


You’re The Boss

by HalloweenBae



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Bloodletting, F/M, Flirting, Hair-pulling, Nipple Play, Psychological Torture, The Iron, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-04-24 02:53:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 25,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14346477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HalloweenBae/pseuds/HalloweenBae
Summary: Negan and his group find you just in time as your friend needs medical attention.





	1. Chapter 1

The sound of engines rumbles in the distance as you assess your friend’s injury. His leg is red and swollen, stifling his carefree demeanor to stoic unspoken pain. Why wasn’t he more careful? Why wasn’t he watching where he was going? He was usually much smarter than this. 

Wait a minute, engines? You shake these irrelevant questions from your mind. You hadn’t heard the sound of engines in months… years. Maybe it was the sound of thunder in the distance, signaling another reason for you to get back on your feet.

“What’s that?” Marshall looks off in the direction of the engines, bending his leg in the process. “Ah!” He winces, holding both sides of his shin.

“I don’t know.” You confess, seeing a handful of trucks drive into view. “Maybe they can help us.”  
You stand up and place your palm above your eyes, shielding yourself from the sun in a military salute. 

Two worn-down trucks and an RV barrel closer to you as your friend’s condition becomes more dire. He squirms on the side of the road as he tries to play off how much discomfort he’s actually in. The last thing Marshall would want is to appear weak, especially in front of a new group of survivors. 

“You think they have medical supplies?” Bob asks, waving down the foreign vehicles.

“God, I hope so.” You drop your arm to your side, placing your hands on your hips as the caravan slows to a stop a few feet ahead of you.

Half a dozen men pile out of the vehicles and make a circle around you, pointing firearms at the rest of your group before you even have a chance to pull yours out of your holster. Men of all colors and ages hold their arms in your direction, their faces blank and resolute as they hold you hostage.

Marshall looks up at you from his place on the ground, the sweat on his brow more prominent than before. He forces a smile as his mocha skin fades to a fair caramel, unable to hide his trepidation before the sound of whistling pulls your gaze away from him.

“Well, well, well… What do we have here?!” A man in a leather jacket struts out of the RV, leaning backward as he balances the weight of a baseball bat on his shoulder. He smiles wide, chuckling under his breath as he surveys each and every one of you, letting the bat drop to his side. “Just the five of them?” He looks over at one of his men who nods in response.

You look over at Bob who puts his hand on his holster.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, big guy…” The man raises his bat, which you notice is wrapped in barbed wire, up to Bob’s chest. “Wouldn’t want to give us the wrong idea, now, would you?” He walks up to your childhood friend and pushes the bat even further into his thorax. 

“See, this here is Lucille,” he nods toward the bat. “And she doesn’t take kindly to strangers reaching for their firearms in front of her.”

“Our friend is hurt.” You cut his show short. “He needs medical attention or he’ll lose his leg.”

“What?!” Marshall looks up at you. “You didn’t say…” 

“So, you’re the boss.” He smiles and points Lucille at you. “Big Mama’s House!”

“Can you help us?” You can’t lose Marshall out here, not like this. 

He laughs and lets the bat drop, swinging it into a slow and steady circle as he advances on you. His strides are sleek and catlike, his posture exaggerated as Lucille acts like an extension of his arm. He stops directly in front of you, running his tongue across his perfect lips before setting Lucille back on his shoulder.

“Save him.” You beg, pleading into his dark brown eyes.

The man smiles, leaning in as his stubble brushes against your cheek. “Save him?” He whispers, his leather boot dwarfing yours as he parts your feet. “Say please.” 

His thigh rubs against your middle as his lips feather your jawline. Goosebumps travel down your neck as you take in his surprisingly clean scent, feeling your heart beat faster as he remains close. This feeling… this fire you’d long forgotten about starts to build up inside of you. Was this just fear mixed with loneliness, or were you actually attracted to this man?

“Please.” You pull back and look at him, taking inventory of every handsome feature on his face. “Please help us.”

“I thought you’d never ask.” His grin is wide as he makes eye contact with a number of his men, signaling for them to start disarming your friends. 

“Hey, what are you..?” You look at your friends then back at him. “We need those out here, you can’t just…”

“You won’t be needing these anymore.” He winks, sliding his hand up your hip and unclipping your holster. He pushes his thigh deeper between yours as he pulls your gun out of its leather container. “And you won’t be out here anymore, either.” He puts your gun into the front of his pants.

“Load him up and take him to the doc.” He instructs, his deep voice bellowing in his leather-clad chest.

“Thank you.” You whisper. 

“Don’t thank me just yet.” His eyes move up and down your face, taking in every micro expression as his men pick Marshall up and take him into the truck. 

He swings Lucille up to your chest, putting the first bit of space between the two of you. Walking sideways, he backs you up against the broadside of the RV and tells you to turn around.

“Hands against the wall, Princess.” You hear him set Lucille against the vehicle before you feel his big warm hands on your shoulders. “It’s tit for tat in The Sanctuary. Gotta trade goods for services.” 

“The Sanctuary?” You look back at him as he pats down your neck and arms, squeezing tightly with each grasp.

“You’ll see.” He moves his hands toward your middle, pressing on your breasts and axillae before pulling you into him by your stomach. “You’re gonna love it.” He whispers into your hair, breathing in your scent. 

You close your eyes as he presses himself against you, his hands slowly creeping down your hips to find your best hunting knife. He pulls it out slowly, bringing the blade up the front of your body.

“Anything else?” He sticks the knife in his belt loop and bends down, taking his time to check in between your legs for any other furtive weapon you might have. 

“That’s it.” You slowly open your eyes as the warmth of his palms leaves your body.

“Good. You’re riding with me.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Negan takes you for a ride.

You sit in the passenger seat of the RV as the man opens the door on the opposite side, climbing into the driver’s seat next to you. His salt and pepper hair becomes more visible now that you aren’t blinded by fear and the blazing summer sun. He sets Lucille between his knee and the door, making sure to keep it out of your reach. 

He makes sure you’re looking at him before he slides his hands down his pants, pulling out the gun and knife he took from you earlier. He sets them loudly on the dashboard in front of you, giving you a quick wink. Leaning over your lap, he unlocks the glove compartment with a key on his wrist. He grabs your weapons and puts them away for what may as well be forever. 

“I’m Negan.” He straightens out and clears his throat before starting up the RV.

“Negan?” You furrow your brow. Have you ever even heard that name before? Is it like the male equivalent to Megan? You turn toward him in your seat and try to think of a name… any other name that might suit him. John, Jack, Bruce… no. None of those names seemed to make sense. Negan… maybe it suited him just fine after all.

“Did I fucking stutter?” He asks matter-of-factly. “What do they call you, Princess?”

“Not that.” You glance back at Marshall’s truck as the last of your group gets loaded in. 

This is it. This is the point of no return. All these years of surviving with your friends, and you’re at the mercy of… Negan. A man who took everything away from you in an instant: your guns, your knives, your freedom, and for what? For a brief moment of affection? A flash of feeling alive when all you’ve managed to do is merely exist?

No, you did this for Marshall. You knew that Marshall’s chances of surviving longer than a day or two without proper medical attention were slim to none. He would have thrown a clot, or died from infection from you trying to perform a field fasciotomy with insufficient equipment. Riding with Negan was the very best option. Riding with Negan was the only option.

You sigh and reluctantly tell him your name. Anything to get him to stop calling you Princess.

“So is it just the five of you, or are there more big fuckers like your friend back there?” He shifts the RV into drive and turns around behind the truck that holds Marshall. 

“Who, Bob?” You smile at his candor. “No, it’s just us.” You admit, keeping your eyes on the road.

“Just you?” He bellows, glancing over at you for a second. “What’d a little badass like you do before the shit hit the fan, huh? Sell iPhones or makeup, or…?”

“I was a nurse.” You defend, glaring at him.

“Jesus Christ, I got me a nurse?!” He laughs, his tongue sliding between his teeth as he smiles at you. Those eyes of his seem to sparkle as he chuckles at your confession. 

“You've got two now, actually.” You start. “Bob and I were just finishing our shift when it happened. We had a lot of septic patients, but they hadn’t shown any unusual symptoms yet. We just thought it was another bad flu season.”

You swallow hard as you try to ignore the memories of your coworkers’ emaciated bodies slowly walking towards you. 

“Bob already had weapons and supplies stocked up in his car and basement. After we loaded everything up, we went out looking for our friends, but it got too dangerous, so we started walking.”

“Bobb-O! A doomsday prepper and a nurse?! I hit the Goddamn jackpot with you two!” He hits the steering wheel with glee.

“He’s a good man.” You volunteer, getting a little more comfortable in your seat. 

“How good? Because, if I’m being honest, which I always am… I’m going to want him to hunt and scavenge for me.” He glances at you again. “I need a big man like that on my team.”

“Bob’s an excellent hunter. He won’t disappoint you.” You need to keep Bob in high demand.

“So are you and him… you know…?” He lets go of the steering wheel and slides his index finger through a circle in his opposite finger and thumb. “Banging each other’s brains out, or what?”

“God, no!” You lean back in your seat, your shoulder blades hitting the window.

“‘God, no?’” He turns and smirks, drinking you in like a tall glass of water. He chews on his lip, his Adam’s apple all of the sudden more prominent as it bounces up and down in his throat. “Good.”

Good? What did that mean, exactly? You stare at him as you feel that heat again. Your eyes travel down to his hips as he adjusts himself in his seat, leaving his hand in between his legs just a little too long.

“And what about the gimpy pool boy? The one you were so keen on saving?” He puts his hands back on the wheel. “You sucking his dick?”

“Not me.” You admit.

“But you want to… and someone else is doing it for you, huh? One of your other friends?” He turns the steering wheel and pulls onto a gravel driveway. “Is it the blonde?” He growls a slow, cruel laugh as he hits your soft spot.

You roll your eyes and say nothing, taking a look out the window. A large warehouse comes into view a few yards ahead of you with a fenced-in area out front. 

“It’s the blonde!” Negan sings under his breath, looking over at you. 

“It doesn’t matter. I just want him safe.” You reassure him, hoping you can convince yourself.

“Uh-huh.” He mocks, slowing his pace down to a stop. He shifts the RV into park and slaps your knee. “We’re home.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Negan helps get you settled.

You run up the gravel driveway as Negan’s men pull Marshall out of the truck on a stretcher. You can see that his chest is still rising at an acceptable rate, but you want to check his pulse. You want to feel his forehead and wipe the sweat off of it before they take him away from you. You want to say goodbye; if that’s what this is. 

You take another stride and feel the cloth of your tank top pull you backwards, stopping you in your tracks. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, where’s the fire?” Negan pulls you back by your straps and stands you next to him.

“I can help him! I can assist the doctor with the dressing change or an IV start, or…”

“OR…” He let’s go of your shirt once you’ve settled. “You can leave that up to my doctor.” He looks ahead and motions with his hand for his men to take Marshall into the warehouse. 

“Does he have an assistant? A nurse? Someone to double check everything to make sure it’s correct? Sometimes a second set of eyes can really help.” You watch as Marshall shrinks in the distance before disappearing behind a heavy metal door. 

Negan steps in front of you. “Let’s get something straight here from the beginning.” His flirty tone vanishes. “This is MY house. I brought you into it because I chose to, not because I had to, and not because I’m some kind of good fucking Samaritan.   
I can’t have you running in there with jealous tears in your eyes because you want him to fall in love with you for saving his life. It doesn’t work that way!” He forces a smile, inching closer to your face.

“You and Bobb-O have skill sets that I need here in the Sanctuary. The more able bodies I have on my team the better. Now, my doctor is very qualified, and he will save your stupid friend as long as that’s what I want him to do. And so far it is, but if you give me any reason not to trust you, I might just change my mind.” 

He grabs your chin. “You may have made the rules up until this point, but it’s my house. My rules. Get it?”

You swallow hard, realizing that Marshall may have fared better dying in the woods. “Got it.”

“Good!” That joker-like grin stretches across his face as he leans back. “Now, let’s go get you something to eat.”

—————

The Sanctuary is a larger community than you could have imagined. Countless amounts of people gather in the main room as you finally meet up with Bob and the rest of your friends. Bob gives you a quick nod to make sure you’re alright, and you return it with a knowing smile. 

The other men around your friends lower their weapons and step back as Negan plants a strong hand on your shoulder. His intoxicatingly haunting laugh rings in your ears as his fingers squeeze your collar bone, bringing you in close to him.

“It seems that I lost my goddamn manners back on the road and forgot to introduce myself to the rest of you.” He addresses your friends. “I’m Negan.”

“This is Simon,” He points to a man with a handlebar mustache. 

“You’ve already met Lucille.” He winks at Bob. 

“And that over there is Dwight, but I reckon you’ve already made his acquaintance. We are The Saviors, and this…” He lifts Lucille into the air. “This is The Sanctuary!

“All these people here were once just like you! Stranded on the side of the road, hurt, starving, barely able to defend themselves from the walkers… until we found them.” He let’s go of you and starts walking around Bob and the others. 

“You may be used to taking orders from Lara Croft over here, or maybe even Bobb-O.” He points to Bob with Lucille. “But that doesn’t matter anymore.” 

He drops the bat and starts swinging it aimlessly as he walks. “Everyone here starts with a clean slate. Everyone here has to earn their keep. Now, I know that we took all your weapons, and you might be kinda pissed off about that, but I promise you…” He looks directly at you and winks. “You’ll get over it.”

“Each and everyone of you has a purpose, a talent we can use. Maybe one of you can run really fast, or sew clothes, or cook a mean fucking jambalaya. Whatever it is, Dwight here will take you to the mess hall so you can… figure all that out.”

“Where’s Marshall?” Katie asks.

“You must be the girlfriend.” He smiles and looks back at you, mouthing the words “it’s the blonde!” again just to rub it in.

You keep a stoic stance and watch as he approaches her, leaning in close. 

“Who?” He asks.

“Marshall. The one with the broken leg.” She crosses her arms over her chest. 

“Oh yeah, now I remember!” He steps away from her and continues his circle around them. “Like I said earlier, we have a very skilled doctor who is patching up your friend as we speak. When he’s well and conscious, I’ll have the doc come and get one of you. Until then, please follow Dwight for any further instructions.” He whistles calmly as your friends reluctantly start walking. 

You let out a long sigh and start towards Bob, hoping that they have something semi-warm to eat. You pull your pants up and fall in line before barbed wire stops you where you stand. 

“You.” His voice is so deep, you can feel it in your feet. “I’m not done with you yet.”

“No?” You turn your head, figuring that if he wanted to hurt you, he would have done so by now. “You’ve made yourself very clear.” 

“So. Much. SASS!” He drops the bat and walks up to you, backing you against the wall. “You know, I was gonna bet dollars to donuts that the girlfriend was going to be just a LITTLE more persistent! She just laid down and took it like a good little girl.” He places his hand on the wall next to your face. “Now, is that you’re doing, or is that his?”

“I don’t make anyone do anything they don’t want to.” You tell him, trying to ignore the fact that his lips are only millimeters away from your face.

You stare at his ear as you try to keep your composure. Every inch of you wants to grab his face and kiss him. Every inch of you wants to rip his clothes to shreds. 

“Huh.” He chuckles, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Then why do they follow you? You aren’t scary by any means, and you’re certainly not very big...” He lets his fingertips fall behind your ear and down your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. 

“I’m not a drill sergeant like you.” You finally remember why he seems so familiar. His jovial mannerisms fail to disguise his need for order and control. Surely, this man had to be in the military before everything started to decline.

“Drill sergeant?” He snaps his fingers and smiles. “That’s what it is!”

“You remind me of him… of them.” You confess, those flashbacks seeming like a dream vacation compared to your present situation. 

He smirks again, leaning in even closer. “Do you like being told what to do?” He presses his hips into your abdomen as his tone changes. 

“Sometimes.” You manage to say. You cry out as he grabs you by the base of your ponytail, exposing your neck. 

“How long has it been since you’ve lost control? Since you’ve let yourself come first before that big fucking brain of yours talked you out of it? A week? A month? A year?” He ghosts his lips over yours as you try to control your breathing. 

“Longer.” You wish he would just kiss you already.

“You like it when a man takes control, don’t you?” His fingers tighten in your hair as he starts to grow against your stomach.

“Yes.” You close your eyes as your chest rises, feeling the heat radiate off his body as his hips cause a rush of moisture between your legs. “Yes.”

“Then we’re going to get along just fine.” He lets go of your hair and steps back, picking Lucille back up and twirling her around. 

“Go. Eat.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You check on Marshall as he wakes up.

A wave of relief washes over you as your friend comes into view; his leg cleanly wrapped in gauze. The color has returned to his cheeks, his usual mocha glow vibrant as ever. A soft smile crosses his lips as you enter the room. 

“Hey, buddy.” He greets you, his smile widening as you approach. 

“Hey, kiddo.” You reply softly. You take your time reaching his bedside, feeling the doctor’s eyes burning into you. “How’re you holding up? I thought you were going to make me cut your leg open on the side of the road!”

“Glad you didn’t.” He laughs, wincing a little. He takes your hand and weaves his fingers in between yours, squeezing tightly. “I would have been a goner for sure.” 

He pulls your hand up to his chest and holds it there for a minute. His fingers are still warm and clammy from his low grade fever, but his heart rate is steady through his chest. He swallows hard and stares at you before looking around the room. “Thanks for bringing us here, B.” 

“Of course.” You smile at him and stare into his eyes, briefly jarred with the thought of walking into this room under different circumstances. 

“So, where is ‘here’, anyways?” He looks over at the doctor and back at you.

“I’m glad you asked that!” Negan traipses in behind you, his voice echoing against the sterile room. 

Marshall releases your fingers and drops his hand. 

“You’re in The Sanctuary, and thanks to your fearless leader here, your leg is going to be right as rain!” He swings Lucille as he walks past you, stopping directly in front of Marshall. “I am a man of my word.”

“The procedure went well,” the doctor starts, looking at Negan. “I made two incisions, releasing pressure on the medial and lateral side of his gastrocnemius and soleus.” He explains to you.

“English, Doc.” Negan interrupts.

“I cut his leg down to the muscle to release the pressure.” He pauses. “You said she was a nurse.”

“I am. What are you giving him for pain? What kind of supplies do you have here?” You look behind the doctor at his scattered supply cabinets. 

“We have ample amounts of Percocet, although I used the last of the morphine for the procedure.” He steps forward and points to Marshall’s leg. “We’ll keep his incisions open for a couple of days until the swelling goes down. Until then, it’s oral meds only.” The doctor sighs and looks at Negan as if waiting for a grade on a paper.

“A couple of days, right…” You look at the gauze on Marshall’s extremity, trying to remember your training from years ago. “Do you have any antibiotics?” 

“We’ve managed to find Keflex and Augmentin.” 

“Are you giving them to him while his leg is open? Did you give him a dose prophylactically?” You cross your arms over your chest. 

“Of course. He just received his second dose.” He looks up at Negan and nods, signing off on your credentials.

“Well, slap my ass and call me Sally!” He leans back. “I don’t know what any of that means, but it seems the two of you are going to get along just fine.” He puts his arm around the doctor’s shoulder and stares at you. “Our doctor’s been without an assistant for a while, and could definitely use some help here, isn’t that right?”

“Y… yes.” The doctor nods at you, uncomfortable at the sudden contact from his leader. “An assistant would be greatly appreciated. Sometimes nothing happens, sometimes everything happens all at once.”

You smile, finally feeling like your old self again. For a brief moment you might even be able to convince yourself that none of this had ever happened; that you just moved to a rural area to work in a doctor’s office.

“We are getting short on supplies, though, not just the morphine. We could use more Tylenol, different antibiotics, metformin, gauze, alcohol pads…” his voice is still shaky.

“Give me a list and I can find them for you.” You offer.

“Now, just wait a Goddamn minute!” Negan lets go of the doctor and steps in front of you, his eyes burning into yours. He closes the space between you as if the other two men aren’t even there. “What did we talk about? Do I have to remind you who makes the decisions around here?” He picks up Lucille, twisting her around in his grip as he stares at you.

“I just thought I could…”

“You just thought…?” He raises his eyebrows and leans back. 

“I thought I could help.” You take in a deep breath and keep your eye contact with him, standing your ground.

“And you can.” He changes his tone, addressing the doctor without looking away from you. “Give her the list, and we’ll get it tonight.”

“Tonight? But we’ve been walking since 6am this morning! She needs to…” Marshall chimes in, looking concerned. 

Negan puts his finger in the air, quieting Marshall immediately. 

“Tonight. You and Bobb-O can finally prove your salt for Jose here and his expensive leg.” He backs you up against Marshall and the exam table. 

“Okay.” You agree robotically. All you want to do is lay your head down and get some rest. All you want to do is breathe without Negan helping you to do so. All you want to do is to feel nothing again instead of being both hot and bothered, while also scared for your life. You thought that this “Sanctuary” was going to be a place of rest, of refuge, an actual sanctuary. Boy, were you wrong. 

“Okay.” He repeats with a smile, one side smirking up higher than the other. “Good.” He licks his lips and looks you over, lingering on your mouth as he stares. “I’ll go grab the boys, and Doc?” He looks over at him, pointing at Marshall. “Keep him comfortable.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Negan go on a midnight run.

A handful of Negan’s men surround you as you stare at the map of the hospital, looking for the unit with the most viable supplies. You glance at the list the doctor gave you and search the map floors: Labor and Delivery, Pediatrics… Surgical Trauma Intensive Care Unit. Yes, STICU, that’s where all the good stuff’s going to be.

“Tick tock, Princess!” Negan saunters up to you, bashing a walker in the head.

“We need to go to the third floor.” You tell him, looking at Bob for reassurance. 

“Is that true?” He walks up to your friend, dragging a crimson trail of blood and brain matter behind Lucille.

“Yes, sir.” Bob states, looking at him.

“Yes sir!” He smiles and plants his hand down on Bob’s shoulder. “Now, THAT… is what I like to hear!” He laughs and looks Bob in the eye, tilting his head from side to side. “You seem like a smart man. Are you sure you can get what I need up there?” His fingers squeeze his shoulder tightly. 

“Do you trust your friend here enough to point my men in the right direction? Better yet…” He pauses, looking back at you before getting back in his face. “Do you trust my men enough to protect you?”

“Yes, sir.” He repeats, sensing the danger in saying anything else. 

Negan smiles and bites his lip, drawing out a long guttural growl. He leans into his ear, setting Lucille on top of Bob’s shoe. “Then you’ll trust she stays here with me while you go get my shit.”

Bob nods.

“Good boy!” He pats his cheek with a gloved hand. 

Negan lets go of his face and whistles quickly, signaling for the rest of the group to move. He swings his bat around, splashing blood on the wall before turning his walkie-talkie on. “Alright, Arat, we’re heading to the pharmacy. You keep that stairwell clear for Dwighty Boy.”

“I’m on it.” You hear her over the static of the device. 

Negan looks at you and motions toward the hallway with his bat. 

—————

The pharmacy is dark, devoid of any windows to let any moonlight inside its walls. The stale smell of blood and gastric contents fills the air as you make your way towards the back. You click on the flashlight he gave you as your eyes fail to adjust to the thick blackness. 

You scan over open cabinets full of medicine as you open up your newly empty pack. Dozens of bottles of cold medicine, oral antidiabetics, painkillers and antibiotics fill your rucksack halfway to the top before you stop. Morphine… Morphine. Don’t we need morphine? 

You turn around and look for the M’s, finding him standing directly in front of it. You shine the light in his eyes to get him to move, but he only shields his face from your torch.

“Jesus, get that thing out of my face.” His voice cuts through the silence like a knife. “Christ!”

“You’re standing in front of the morphine.” You walk over to him, shining your flashlight behind his head and shoulders. You see the extended release tablets on the shelf just above his head, and stand on your tiptoes. “I can barely reach them. Can you move, please?”

“What’ll you give me?” He smirks, quickly nodding his head upwards as your body presses against his.

“What else could you possibly want?” You ask, exasperated. You land back on your feet, your cheek brushing his as you fall back to your normal height. 

“You know what I want.” He pops his hip and walks forward, taking you with him as he backs you up against the pharmacy counter. “And I’ve got a feelin’...” He smiles deliciously. “That you want it too.” He bites that lower lip again for the thousandth time, the flashlight providing an eerie lighting to his dark and hungry face.

“Take it, then.” You nod, tracing his hands with your fingertips as they travel up your hips. 

You gasp as his hands slide under your ass, lifting you up onto the counter faster than you can imagine. You set the flashlight down on the counter next to you, the bright yellow light shining directly into the ceiling.

His lips are on yours before you know it… soft and smooth against his prickly stubble that tickles your nose and chin. He parts your lips with his tongue. That silver tongue that’s always busy talking and licking his own lips is finally on yours. Smooth and warm, he tastes like honey against your thirsty mouth. 

You let yourself relax, and forget about the circumstances that brought you here. You forget about Bob, about Marshall and Katie, about Sally. You forget about the walkers that lay still on the floor only a few feet away from you. You forget what the consequences of your actions might be in the near future, because, if you’re being honest with yourself, there may not even be a near future. 

All that matters is now. All that matters is Negan. All that matters is his tongue massaging the inside of your mouth while his hands start unbuttoning your pants. He bites your lower lip and pulls it away from your mouth, growling as he slides your jeans and underwear down your hips. 

You grab onto his neck, deepening your kiss. You lift your hips off the table so he can slide your clothes down to your knees. Your warm skin contracts against the cold wooden counter of the pharmacy, this feeling all too alien to you. 

“God, that pussy’s just waiting for me, isn’t it?” He laughs, sliding his fingers between your lips. He takes his time spreading your moisture up and down your length, pulling up on your clit with his middle finger. He bites his lip and grabs your chin. “Still like being told what to do?”

“Yes,” you moan, closing your eyes as his fingers send slow, steady pulses of pleasure up into your core.

“Look at me when I’m speaking to you.” He practically yells, his voice shaking you to your core. His hand squeezes your face even tighter, pulling you into him.

You open your eyes, the sudden darkness in his voice causing your neurons to fire an intense burst up your spine. You aren’t sure if you’re more frightened or turned on, but that doesn’t really matter; not out here. His fingers slide down past your clit and into your entrance.

“You’re going to come for me.” He pushes his index and middle fingers inside of you, twisting them upward so that his wrist faces the ceiling. 

“Oh, God,” You whisper, looking up at him as he presses your clit with his thumb. 

“Not God,” He winks at you, pulling his fingers out and then shoving them back in. “Negan.” He licks his lips and picks up his pace, keeping his grip on your face tighter than your grip on his fingers.

Your muscles stretch and move around him as he plows into you, the sound of your moist friction echoing inside the pharmacy. It had been months since you’d touched yourself, and even longer since a man had touched you. His fingers and lips were about to send you over the edge, but you didn’t want to seem too… eager?

“That’s it, make yourself come all over my goddamn fingers.” He kisses you wildly, pulling his fingers up in just the right spot to send you where you hadn’t been in forever.

“Oh! Negan!” You shout, your body convulsing and contracting around his digits. “Oh, fuck!”

“Fuck! You’ve got a mouth on you, after all!” He smiles as you finish, pulling his hand from between your legs. He wastes no time at all and slides his fingers inside his mouth, rolling his eyes back in his head for a brief second.

“Mmmm, That is some GOOD PUSSY!” He leans back, staring at you in the dim glow of the flashlight. “If I’d’ve known you were that tight, I would have fucked you on the side of the road and left your friend for dead!” He laughs, baring those beautiful pearly whites. 

Wait, what did he just say?

Negan sucks on his fingers again, pulling them out with a loud and audible ‘pop’ before helping you down off the counter. 

“Let’s go see what Bob and Dwight are up to.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You meet Sherry.

The days go on as the spoils from your victory make Doctor Carson smile. A generally stoic man with little facial expressions in his arsenal, it was nice to see when you brought in your new supplies. 

“Thank you.” He expresses softly, glancing over everything with his long, thin fingers. 

“Of course, it was nothing!” You smirk, leaving out the part where Negan drew the first orgasm out of you in years. “We needed all of this, anyways. I can’t thank you enough for saving my friend earlier…” 

You look up at him and realize that you hadn’t thanked him at all. You realize that the excitement instilled in you by Negan and Lucille had robbed you of all your manners, of all your grace. You knew that the apocalypse was going to change you, and it never stopped doing that. But you were better than that, kinder than that. You weren’t going to let it destroy you completely. 

You take in a deep breath and let it out. Placing your hand on top of his, you squeeze his fingers. “Thank you.”

“Dr. Carson.” A soft voice interrupts your attempt to build a trusting relationship with your new colleague.

“Sherry!” He looks up at the woman in the doorway, sliding his hand out from under yours. “How are you feeling this morning?” He rushes to her side to take her hand, leading her slowly to the exam table. 

“I’m fine, thank you. I’m just here for my exam.” She glances over at you and straightens out her dress before sitting down. 

Her DRESS?

You do a double take and look her over. Her hair is clean and combed, her skin soft and moisturized. Diamond studs adorn her ears and a sleek black dress hugs her body in all the right places. Everyone you’ve met here so far has been dressed like you, with the clothes on their back and a few key accessories, but Sherry… Sherry is wearing Louis Vuitton heels.

You blink a few hundred times and take in her visage. Something isn’t right. Something doesn’t compute. Something doesn’t make sense.

“Sherry is Negan’s wife.” Doctor Carson tells you, seeing you struggle with her appearance. 

Negan’s wife? Negan’s… wife?! Negan’s… No, he can’t! She can’t be! You feel your stomach start to churn. That slice of bread you managed to eat this morning starts to fight it’s way up your esophagus. How did you manage to get mixed into a situation like this again? 

“I’m sorry, what?” You manage to ask, holding a folded hand over your mouth.

“One of them.” Sherry whispers under her breath.

Oh, okay, it gets worse. Of course. One of them… one of them? Your abdomen contracts and you audibly groan as you begin to taste your gastric contents in the back of your mouth.

“Huh.” You nod, trying to remain professional. “Okay, well…” You turn around and try to regain some composure. You find the new box of gloves Bob recovered from the STICU, and slide a pair of them on. This is okay. This is fine. This is FINE. You can handle this. You’re just going to assist Doctor Carson with a pelvic exam on the wife of the man who just…

“He didn’t tell you?” She leans back on the exam table and puts a gown on over her dress. She slides her underwear down her legs and sets them on the bedside chair. 

A black lace thong. Great. Perfect. Wonderful. Fantastic. Fuck, you have to get out of here. 

“Speculum?” Doctor Carson gloves up and sits on his rolling stool. He looks up at you with his large beady eyes and extends a gloved hand out to you. 

“Right.” You bite your lip and control your breathing. You wash away the specifics of the situation and find the speculum in its sterile packaging. This is just like any other day at work, you tell yourself. You open the package halfway as Doctor Carson turns to you. 

“I’m surprised he didn’t ask you right away.” Sherry leans her head up and addresses you.

Oh, she’s still talking about it, even while you’re looking at her the way Negan probably sees her most of the time. Where are the walkers when you need them? Maybe one of them can just take you now and end your misery. You wonder how easy it would be to escape this place.

“Huh?” You reply curtly, staring at her perfectly groomed organ while Doctor Carson inserts the speculum. 

“I’m surprised he didn’t ask you to be his wife.” Click click click, he expands the tool and holds his hand out to you again. 

“Flashlight.” He orders.

You hand him the flashlight. “Ha, What?!” You look at her face, which isn’t any less nauseating than looking in between her legs. 

“There’s room for one more.” She winces from the pain of the speculum and keeps her eyes focused on you. 

Your face squishes together in emotional distress. “Room for one more…” You swallow hard. “How many of you are there?” You can’t believe you’re asking her this.

“Five.” She states as Carson pulls the plastic expander out of her. 

You drop the flashlight. Five?! “Five?” You hold your hand up with all five fingers stretched out. “Five? This many? Five?” You bend over and retrieve the flashlight. You hate how much you repeat yourself when you’re upset. 

“You’re all done, Sherry. Everything looks great.” He stands up and takes his gloves off, tossing them in the trash next to the exam table. “Good luck.”

“Good luck?” You look at him and back at Sherry as she takes her exam gown off. “Good luck with what?”

“Getting pregnant.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You talk to Negan about his “wives”.

Negan walks into the office with his hand clutching his left side. He shoves the door open and shuffles in like a belligerent drunk. Bright red blood stains his hand and leather jacket as he drips little circles onto the floor before resting on the exam table.

“Negan!” You walk over to him, unzipping his jacket and taking it off of his arms for him. “What happened? When did this happen?!” You tug the black leather off his wrists and throw it onto the bedside table. “Take off your shirt.” 

You walk over to the sink and start washing your hands. What happened out there that he got attacked? Was everyone else okay? Was there a security breach? Was Bob okay? Why did he have to come back when Doctor Carson was out in the garden? He would be much better at this than you. 

You look over at him and see that his white t-shirt is almost completely soaked in blood on the left side. “I said take your shirt off. NOW.” You haven’t had to use your “mom” voice in years.

“Jesus, okay!” He starts to take it off, but can’t quite lift his arms enough to finish the job. You know he’s in pain if he isn’t talking, and he’s always talking. 

You cut through his shirt with your surgical scissors and toss it on top of his leather jacket. “I’m going to give you a local anesthetic before I sew you up…” You grab a pair of gloves and put them on, touching his wound to see just how deep it goes. It looks moderately superficial, but you wait to make sure there isn’t any arterial spurting with his bleeding. You stick him with the anesthetic, making him groan and squeeze the side of the exam table. 

“Oh come on, you big baby.” You laugh under your breath as he shows a moment of vulnerability.

“Shit, that hurts.” He keeps his arm up so you can access his wound. 

“I’m sorry.” You grumble, remembering your interaction with Sherry a few days ago. Okay, maybe you aren’t that sorry for hurting him. Maybe you’ll take a little extra time stitching him up just for that. “I’m just going to sew you up. Try to sit still, I know that’s a challenge for you.” 

You clean his wound with betadine and hook your needle into your surgical thread. Bending down at the waist, you insert the half moon shaped needle into his flesh. He winces again, still grabbing onto the exam table as you pull the red wire through his layers of skin. 

“These stitches dissolve by themselves, so don’t come in and ask see me to take them out.” You tell him, making your second and third stitch. 

“Did I do something while I was gone to PISS YOU OFF?” His voice deepens, getting louder with each word. 

Yes. You saved my friend’s life while stealing all of our weapons, and then transported us here. You did this while making me feel wanted, desired, and attractive. You finger-fucked me in a walker-filled hospital and gave me the best orgasm of my life. You took the only real friend I have left on a raid with you while I gave your wife a pelvic exam. A pelvic exam! And then I find out that she’s only one of five wives. Five!

“No.” You lie. 

You continue to pull the wire through his skin as his lungs expand and contract. “You shouldn’t talk so much while I’m stitching you up.” You make your last stitch and tie off the end, snipping the excess off with your scissors. You take the gauze out of the package and tape each side carefully before running your hand over it to ensure it’s security. “There. You’re done.” You turn around and start cleaning your scissors in the sink. 

“Excuse the fuck out of me? ‘You’re done?’” He stares at you as you keep your back to him. “Are you going to look at me when I’m talking to you, or are you going to make me bust your goddamn handiwork over here and make you have to do it all over again?”

“What?” You turn around and raise your eyebrows. 

“I thought we were going to have a Florence Nightingale moment here, but,” He stands up slowly, reminding you exactly how much smaller you are than him. “I don’t like the way you’re looking at me.” He takes a step forward.

“How would you have me look at you? Like Sherry does? Or maybe one of your other four wives?” You cross your arms over your chest and tilt your head. 

He laughs that satisfied slow drawl of his, licking his lips as he approaches you. “Oh, baby, is that what’s got your panties in a twist? Little old Sherry?” He smiles and places his hands on your shoulders, moving a strand of hair off your arm. 

He’s trying to minimize the problem, twist your words, and somehow make this your fault. You’ve played this game before, and you refuse to do so again. You keep your silence and look up at him. 

“What’d she say to you, anyways?”

“I can’t tell you, I can’t breach patient confidentiality.” You look down at his fingers as they trace the fine hair on the back of your arm, sending shivers up your spine. Why does he have to have five wives? Why does he have to be so handsome? Why does he have to make you feel so good?

“Okay.” His fingers move up your arms and to your chest, sliding both straps of your tank top off your shoulders. “Then don’t. What do you really think about me having five wives? Because I see that mouse running so goddamn fast on that wheel up in your head, I’m afraid it’s going to fall off its hinges.”

“I don’t…” You start as he pulls your tank top down to your waist. “I can’t…” He pushes it down past your knees so that it falls to the floor. He unfastens your bra and pulls it forward, his eyes darkening as you reveal yourself to him. 

“Holy shit, you have great tits.” He smiles and cups them with his large, warm hands. His thumbs rub your nipples as they grow hard against his fingertips, his hips pinning you in place.

“I don’t like to share my things.” You whisper before he licks your mouth playfully. Goddamnit, you had so many other things you wanted to say to him. How is he doing this to you?

“No?” He pinches your nipple in between his fingers and sucks on your bottom lip, grinding his erection into your jeans. 

“I get jealous very easily.” You whisper into him, opening your mouth to his as your run a hand through his hair. “I’d want you all to myself or nothing at all.”

“God, that’s hot.” He pulls your hair and kisses your neck, licking and sucking with a tongue so skilled you wish you weren’t about to reject him.

“Negan…” you push him off of you. “No. I can’t… I won’t.”

He pulls back, sliding his hands down to your hips. “Is this about my wives again?” He raises an eyebrow and laughs as he watches your face turn serious. 

“I want you, but I can’t be involved in something like this.” You smooth your hands over his wrists, letting his hands stay where they are. 

“Honey, you already are.” He pauses, looking you over with a grin. “And ‘something like this’?” He furrows his brow, offended. “Jesus, you’re just jumping the gun on the judgement train, aren’t you? Christ! I save your friend’s life, give you your old job back, and this is the thanks I get? You don’t even know what it’s like to be one of my wives! I take care of them! Make sure they don’t have to work for anything. You might actually love it.” He removes his hands from your hips and walks over to the exam table. 

“Love it?” You bend over and pick up your bra, sliding your arms into the straps. 

He puts his shredded shirt back on for lack of better options and turns to you. “I didn’t ask you because I need you here, stitching up dumb fuckers like me.” His tone is defensive. 

You fasten your bra in the back and look over at him. “I don’t want you to ask me, I just… I can’t let this keep happening while your wives come in and tell me how you’re trying to get them pregnant. I can’t…” You bite your lip and sigh. “I can’t handle it.”

“You can’t let this happen?” He walks over to you again. “The only person that’s ‘letting’ anything happen here is me.” He grabs your chin, staring at you. “You don’t like sharing your things?” He raises his eyebrows. “Neither do I.” 

You stare back, the intensity of his eyes heating you up slowly. 

“You belong to me. Your friends out there? They belong to me. I let you live because I need you here, so you can think that you can’t handle it, but you’re going to have to.” He moves his eyes over the features of your face.

“I don’t want you to be my wife if you don’t want to be there. That’s fine.” He swallows hard, breathing deeply. “But you’re done making demands and rules. If I want to bring one of them in here and fuck them in front of you, I will.” He squeezes your jaw so tight that you can barely speak. 

“Please don’t.” You whisper, already imagining him on top of Sherry on the examination table. 

“Don’t make me.” He pulls on your bottom lip with his thumb before releasing you.


	8. Chapter 8

The days when Negan was gone were a little easier to get through. You and Doctor Carson would reminisce about the days when you both worked at actual hospitals. You would laugh and tell each other about the patients that seemed like horror stories at the time; if only you knew then what you knew now. 

The people in The Sanctuary still treated you kindly… well, as kindly as they could treat anyone. You earned a lot of points with your specialty, but kept mainly to yourself after the day was done. You didn’t want to hear his name. You didn’t want to see his face. You didn’t want to risk running into another one of his wives.

You lay on top of your bed, relishing in the relative silence of the place as you stare at the ceiling. This isn’t really any different than the Army, is it? Maybe this is okay. Maybe this is your new normal.

Knock knock.

You sit up in your bed, leaning on your elbows. You thought Negan was gone collecting from The Hilltop. Who else could be at your door at this hour?

“Who is it?” You ask, standing up and walking over to the door. 

“It’s Negan… er… it’s Bob.” 

You open the door and see your friend looming over you, a glazed and sullen look on his face. 

“Come in.” You step back and let him enter, closing the door behind him. “So, you’re Negan too, now, huh?”

“Of course I am. And you should be too.” He sits on your bed and looks around your small apartment. “With a place like this, I’d be Negan in a heartbeat.” He chuckles, showing a flash of the Bob you knew in grade school.

“I know… I am.” You lie, sitting next to him. 

“Have you said it yet?” 

“No, he actually hasn’t asked me that directly.” You look at your feet, suddenly realizing that if Bob is here, then so is the real Negan. “Did he send you here to talk to me?” 

“No, I’m here on my own.” For the first time in eighteen years, Bob takes your hand. He squeezes it softly and looks you over, sighing the deepest sigh you’ve ever heard from him. 

“You have to give him what he wants.” His words are heavy.

You look up at your mountain of a friend. If you could count on anyone to give you the awful truth in any situation, it was always Bob. He never steered you wrong, never sugar-coated anything, and he wasn’t going to start now.

You take in a deep breath, feeling your palms start to sweat. 

“You haven’t seen what I’ve seen… what he can do… what he’s done.” For the first time since all of this started, you see fear in your friend’s eyes. “He won’t let it go. He won’t stop. He won’t…”

“Bob, you’re our high school quarterback, you’ve taken on dozens of walkers without breaking a sweat, you…”

“This is different!” He stands up, letting your hand fall limp onto the mattress.

He rubs his temple with his fingers and begins to pace. “He isn’t just some guy you can toss aside, and I know you don’t want to end up like you did with Michael, I get that, I really do, but this…” He drops his hand to his side. “This is bigger than your pride. This is survival now, this is life and death.” He sighs again. 

“What did you see?”

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

“Everybody at the furnace now.” You hear Dwight’s voice muffle through your door. 

Bob looks at the door, then back at you. “I think you’re gonna find out.”

—————

You and Bob stand next to each other as the rest of the community files into the open room in front of the furnace. You see Marshall, Katie, and Sally walk up on the opposite side, Marshall leaning against an old wooden cane. 

BANG!

You jump at the sound of wood on metal, Negan’s bat hitting the railing as he saunters down the stairs. His hips lead the way as Lucille spins in circles, repeatedly hitting the metal of the yellow stairwell. “You know, I don’t think we explained the rules properly to you guys.”

BANG!

Bob’s hand clamps down on your shoulder, forcing you to kneel with the rest of the crowd.

BANG!

“I know we jumped into bed with you kinda fast, but some things are just common sense.” He reaches the bottom of the stairs and looks over the patrons of his community. “As you were!”

You stand back up, wiping the dirt off your knees. 

“Now, I thought we had a pretty good set up for you here. We helped your friend out with his leg, we let you ease into this place with your old jobs...” He walks through the crowd as a path is made for him. “But apparently, that wasn’t good enough for you.” He points Lucille at Sally. “Was it?”

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. Sally was definitely the weakest of your group. You were too busy dealing with Negan to even think about checking in on her. You were too busy to think about checking in on anyone, now that you think about it. Did they separate you for a reason? Did she feel abandoned? Did she try to run? Did she steal something? Did she…

Sally looks up at Negan, her bottom lip trembling as Lucille floats mere inches from her face. A solitary tear streams down her cheek as he lowers his bat and continues walking. 

“Now, I don’t know what kind of bullshit operation you had going on before, but you’re here now. And HERE, we have rules.

“Without rules, we’re no better than the walkers we helped you escape from.” He turns and addresses the rest of the crowd. “So what does that mean? Dwight?” He looks over at the skinny man standing next to the furnace. “When rules are broken… there has to be consequences.” He leans back with his last word, jutting Lucille out lazily toward the crowd. 

“And Dwight knows all about consequences, don’t you, Dwighty Boy?” He looks at him and winks, getting nothing back but a solemn nod. An eerie laugh creeps out of his mouth as he looks his associate over, licking his lips.

“Somebody’s gotta pay for breaking the rules.” His face hardens. “Is it going to be you?” He walks toward Sally like a predator, dragging Lucille across the cold concrete floor. His eyes cast a clear coat of silence over the crowd as he takes in her trembling figure.

“Or you?” He grabs Marshall by the collar of his shirt, bringing him in front of the furnace. “You seem like a real team player.” He drags him over to the fiery door, forcing him to drop his cane next to Katie. “Dwight, bring me that iron.”

“No!” Katie cries out, stepping towards Marshall. “I did it, I told her to run, it was me!” Tears stream down her face as she stares at him, pleading for his life. 

Oh my God, Bob was right. What is he going to do? Is that why Dwight looks like that? Has he done this before? 

“I’ll do anything you want, just don’t hurt him!” She falls to her knees as Dwight hands Negan the iron. 

“So, it’s you I should be punishing?” He drags Marshall over to her and throws him on the floor. “You want me to burn your pretty little face instead?” 

He squats down in front of them both, moving his eyes from one to the other. “Maybe burning him would be punishment enough…” He grabs Marshall again and brings the iron close to his face. “That way you get to look at your mistake everyday for the rest of your life.”

“I’ll marry you. I’ll do whatever, just leave him alone!” She offers, her tears dripping onto the floor and evaporating within seconds.

“Marry me?” He furrows his brow, laughing at her request. “You’re willing to get over your boy here?” He stands up and looks at you, still gripping Marshall tight by the collar. 

“Yes, please!” She cries.

“We haven’t even had our first date yet, and you’re proposing to me? Right in front of your boyfriend! Goddamn, you are ice cold!” He smiles wide and turns on his heel, bringing Marshall over to you. 

“Did you hear that?” He leans in to you. “She wants to be my WIFE!” His smile is paralyzing, his grip on Marshall almost cutting off circulation. 

“She’s willing to put herself on the line for him, and you didn’t even FLINCH! I thought you cared about him. I thought you couldn’t lose him. I thought…” He leans back, glancing over at Katie. “I thought there was something between the three of you.” He waits for you all to connect before continuing.

“Do you think she’ll do whatever I want? Do you think she likes it up the ass? I’d ask Pedro here, but I’m pretty sure he’s a little compromised right now.”

“Don’t you fucking touch her.” Marshall mutters.

Without hesitation, Negan presses the iron into Marshall’s face, smiling as his screams echo throughout the warehouse. The smell of burnt flesh fills the air, mixing in with his sweat and tears as he eventually runs out of breath. Negan keeps his eyes on you as he disfigures your friend, holding you in place with his stone cold stare. The orange glow from the iron casts a hellish glow in his eyes as he finally blinks. He tilts his head as Marshall loses consciousness and slumps onto the floor. 

“Look at what you made me do.” Negan whispers.

You stare at him in disbelief as a thick silence takes the room. Smoke and steam rise off of Marshall’s cheek as his eyes roll back into his head.

“I’ll be your wife.” You take in a deep breath, hoping it’s enough to make him stop.

Negan drops the iron in front of Marshall’s limp body as a slow, satisfied grin twists his lips upward. “What was that?” He raises a hand to his ear. “Because it sounded to me like you just asked to be my wife.” 

“I did.” You take a step forward. 

He smiles like a Cheshire Cat, leaning back and looking at Dwight. “Ask me again, just a little louder so EVERYONE can hear you.” He reaches his hand out as Dwight hands him Lucille. 

“Can I be your wife?” You look up at him as he steps over Marshall, swinging Lucille like a pendulum. You stand resolute in front of your friends, if they will even call you that after this. “Please.”

Negan leans into you, the heavy pause of his decision weighing down on you like an anvil. Is it too late? Did he even really want you as a wife to begin with? Is this going to calm him down? Can you live with this? Can Marshall? Can Katie?

With not even an inch between your faces, he nestles his whiskers against your cheek and whispers, “I accept.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You live with your choice.

“There she is, the woman of the hour.” Negan sets Lucille down against the side of the couch and starts toward you. “And God Dammit! Are you stubborn! Jee-sus!” He crows, slinking across the room.

You try to push Marshall’s screams out of your head as you look around Negan’s bedroom, astonished at the luxury he lives in. Wrought iron light fixtures adorn the walls, providing mood lighting for his king sized bed. How is it okay for him to live like this while the rest of us… the rest of them… live off meager points?

“You like what you see?” He closes in on you. “It’s only the best for me and my girls.” The heat from his core seems to pull you in. “And I do mean the very best.” He moves a strand of hair away from your face.

“You wanted to see me?” You try to control your breathing as he feathers the shell of your ear. 

“You’re my wife. I’m always going to want to see you.” His face is smug as he chews on his bottom lip. “I just want to make sure that you really want to be here.” His fingertips travel down your ear and jawline, hooking under your chin.

“Of course I want to be here.” You admit, finally letting the walls you’ve built crumble beneath his touch. You’ve wanted to be here since you met him. You just wanted to have your cake and eat it too. You realize now that that’s no longer an option, that it never was. 

“Good.” He leans in, bringing your mouth to his. “Show me.”

You press your lips against his, placing your hand on the back of his neck. You pull him close as he kisses you back, his mouth hungry and impatient. You find the zipper of his leather jacket and unzip his armor, sliding it off his arms and onto the floor. 

You feel his warm hands smooth their way down your shoulders, back, and hips as he moves you toward the bed. The height of the mattress hits the back of your legs just above your knees as he voluntarily takes his t-shirt off. Good God, he looks good. You hadn’t really taken the time to appreciate him when you were stitching him up a week ago, but now… well, now you have all the time in the world. You bite your lip as you feel his nipples harden under your palms, his hands squeezing your ass before pushing you onto your back. 

Your head hits the down comforter as he climbs on top of you, his hips aligned with yours. You watch as he unfastens his belt and tosses it behind him next to his leather jacket. 

“Look. At. You!” He smirks, reaching for the handle of his knife. “You are hot as HELL.”

His knife? His knife! What? Your eyes widen as he pulls it out, the dim light reflecting off the large serrated blade. You start to squirm, but his hips have you pinned down too tightly. 

“You won’t be needing these anymore.” He twirls the handle in his palm and brings it to your throat before sliding it between your breasts. He pulls it down slowly, the sound of the only threads you’ve worn for the past six years ripping apart from each other echoing in your ears.

You hold your breath, trying to make yourself as small as possible as he destroys your tank top and bra. His blade catches the hem of your shirt, tugging hard as he finally slices through it. He bites his bottom lip as he sends a sharp stinging sensation into your stomach. Did he just cut you?!

“Oops.” He raises his eyebrows.

You gasp as the warm air hits your open skin, thrusting your hips up into his. You sit up on your elbows to look at the damage, but he pushes you back down. 

“Stay.” He locks eyes with you, a wild look taking over them. He relaxes his hips, slowly crawling down your body. You hear his knees hit the floor as he pulls you to the edge of the bed. 

You feel his tongue start to lap up the blood that trickles down your midriff. You cry out as the soft sensation of his mouth mixes with the sharpness of your wound. Low groans escape his lips as he continues licking, exciting you more than you’d care to admit. Is he really doing this? Is this really happening? 

You glance down to meet his gaze, but his eyes remain shut as he draws from you like a vampire bat. You watch his mouth work as your blood paints his tongue a bright scarlet red. The salt from his saliva stings and stabs, but the motion of his tongue seems to override the pain. You reach down to run your hand through his hair, jarred at the feeling of his hand around your wrist.

He takes his other hand and traces his fingers across your cut, staining them with your viscous fluid. He slowly climbs back on top of you, bringing them up to your lips.

“Open.” He orders.

You part your lips, reluctantly granting entry to his sanguinous fingers. 

“You’re mine now.” He pushes them to the back of your throat. “Your body is mine.” He starts to pull them out. “THESE” He flays your top open, leaving a faint trail of blood and spit down your chest. “Are mine.”

You nod drunkenly as he traces circles around your nipples, dropping the knife beside you on the bed. Why couldn’t you get your head right around him? What was it about him owning you that turned you on so much? That would never fly with anyone else you’ve slept with, but, then again, Negan wasn’t like anyone else. 

“This is mine, too.” His hands make their way down to your jeans and unbutton them quickly. He pulls them down with your underwear, tugging them to your ankles in one fluid motion. He bends down and takes your shoes and socks off, sliding the rest of your clothes carefully off your legs. 

He stands back up, sliding his pants and underwear down just as quickly.

“Jesus.” You sit up, staring at him. No wonder he’s so big; his voice, his walk, his bat, his presence, they all make sense now. Your mouth starts to water as you stare at his monument, wondering what he could possibly taste like. 

He smirks before letting his tongue roll across his perfect teeth. “You like what you see?” He strokes himself as he climbs back onto the bed, kissing his way up your torso. 

You close your eyes as his lips tickle the fine hair on your sensitive skin. Smooth lips staggered with stubbly whiskers trail their way up your chest and neck, making your body pulse with desire. You feel his tip bob up and down against your leg as he teases you, placing his hands on either side of your head. 

He leans down and kisses you, spreading that iron-rich flavor into your mouth even further. His tongue dances on top of yours, almost making you forget what he did to your friend an hour ago. His hand slides between your legs, his massive fingers spreading you apart to collect your wetness before…

“Negan!” You cry out, feeling him finally push himself inside of you. God, he feels even bigger than he looks. You know it had been a long time since you’ve done this, but you also know he’d surpass any of your former lovers.

“I love it when you say my name.” He growls, thrusting himself to the hilt. 

“Ah! Oh…” You reach up to touch his face.

He grabs both wrists and pins them down next to your head, clicking his tongue. “Oh, I don’t think so.” He speeds up, increasing the force of penetration each time. He stares at you with a look you’ve only gotten glimpses of in your interactions before. Eyes dark and hooded, he keeps your wrists held tightly above your head. 

“Say my name again.” He whispers into your mouth before sucking on your jaw and neck. “Say it!”

“Negan!” You whisper, spreading your legs as wide as you can as he slides in and out of you. “Negan!” 

He lets go of your wrists and leans back on his knees, quickly finding your clit as he starts rubbing deep intense circles into your bud. If the Devil were ever to take human form, you’re pretty damn sure this would be it. His eyes are a reddened black, a burgundy, as he lifts your hips onto his waist and slowly penetrates your soaking wet entrance. 

“Holy shit, you’re tight.” He stares at himself as he enters you over and over again, his palm resting on your hips as his thumb does the heavy lifting. “Looks like we’re gonna have to do this everyday if we’re going to get your stretched out.”

You bite your lip at the suggestion. Everyday? Like this? Ugh, yes, please. You stare at him as he works on you, that thumb sending warm waves of bliss up your body and down to your toes. You never thought you’d be able to feel like this again.

You gasp as Negan switches positions, keeping himself inside of you while he lifts your legs up onto his shoulders. Oh god, he’s hitting that spot again; it’s like he knows exactly where it is. 

You start to whimper as his head brushes that bundle of nerves with impeccable accuracy. His hips speed up, his ferocity unrelenting as he pounds deep inside of you each time. Your breath begins to hitch, your muscles clenching as his wide circumference sends more of those warm signals to your brain. 

“Say my name again.” He orders, rubbing your clit even harder as he drills into you. “I want the whole fucking Sanctuary to hear you scream it.”

“Negan.” You say in between shortened breaths. You can feel that big tsunami coming over you any second now. 

“Louder.” The sound of skin slapping against skin rings in your ears as your heart rate threatens to become critical. He grabs ahold of your ankles as he sends you over the edge, forcing your body to become a slow-moving wave of pleasure. 

“Negan!” You scream; your chest, stomach and hips rising and falling in sequential formation. You moan as your toes curl behind his head. “Negan, fuck, oh Negan!” 

You feel your muscle spasm and clench around him as he finishes inside of you, growling and biting your legs as he does so. You feel his warmth drip out of you and onto the mattress as he twitches in between your legs, staring at you with languid eyes. 

A moment of silence. This is new for him. You catch your breath and wait, anticipating something clever or offensive leaving those swollen lips of his. 

Nothing.

He kisses your feet and turns your body sideways so that your head rests on the pillow. He swallows hard and exhales, laying down beside you. Beside you? What is this? Why isn’t he talking? You thought that he would leave right after, or kick you out with nothing to wear but your torn clothes. You almost want to go back to the part where he was drinking your blood. At least then he was acting like the man you’d known this past month. At least then you could anticipate his actions. You weren’t expecting him to be so... soft. 

He lets out a long sigh and pulls back the covers, motioning with his head for you to get under them with him. 

“Sleep. You’re going to need your rest.”


	10. Chapter 10

You blink slowly as you start to wake up, the down comforter weighing you down in the best way. You smile and take in a deep breath, rolling over only to have your hand fall onto his hairy chest. For a moment you think that you’re still dreaming, you haven’t been in bed with anyone since…

“G'morning’, Darlin’.” Negan turns to you, softly rubbing his cheek against the pillowcase.

Oh, God, it’s him! It actually happened! You try to hide your surprise as the memories begin to flood in. Countless sessions of him pulling your hair and biting your shoulder become clearer as you stare at his face. You glance over at the clock on his bedside table and realize that you’ve been at it for twelve hours. Twelve hours?! That can’t be right. 

“Still getting used to it, huh, Princess?” He leans in and kisses you, running a hand through your hair as he pulls you in. 

“Yeah.” You admit, feeling the ache set in from last night. You had forgotten how awful you felt the morning after. Your thighs and ass feel like they’re on fire, your calves spasming sporadically from overwork and dehydration. Your shoulders and biceps cry out for magnesium. You remember now why you only did it every once in a while. 

“Time to get up. Daddy’s got to go to work.” He slaps your ass and sits up in bed, running a hand over his face. 

You follow suit and notice all of the bite marks on your hips and thighs. You smile at the thought of his dangerous mouth sucking future bruises into your flesh before putting it to better use in between your legs. Nothing out of the normal there, until you run your hand over your stomach. 

“You cut me.” You turn and face him. 

He looks back at you, smiling knowingly before standing up. He walks around the bed frame and stops directly in front of you; his hips at eye level again. Goddammit, why does he look so good all the time?

“Did I?” He lifts your chin with his fingertips, bringing your face inches from his member. 

“It hurts.” You glare at him.

“You’re going to hurt for a while.” He smirks, licking his lips. He squats down in front of you, sliding his palms up your thighs. “Do you know why I chose you?” 

You’ve been wondering that from the very beginning. A man like him with all of this luxury, all of these people under his thumb, why would he even give you a second glance? Why did he want you so badly that he had to tease you for a whole month before...

“No.” You answer.

“Because you’re like me.” He whispers, leaving a trail of goosebumps up your thigh until he stops at your cut.

Your brow furrows. Like him? Has he met you? Has he met himself?

“I know what you’re thinking, that’s a pretty fucked up thing to say to you, especially right now, after all that’s happened.”

Yes.

He moves his gaze from your wound and up to your face. 

“I could smell it on you, see it in your eyes that day on the road.” He pauses. “And you could smell it on me too. You’re like me because you need that pain to remind you that you’re still alive.” He moves his hand up to your mouth, tugging on your bottom lip as his also part. 

God, was he right? You knew that you felt something when you saw him; something primal that you both recognized in each other. You don’t consider yourself a masochist by any means, you just like things a little rough. No, this is just him projecting himself onto you. It has to be. You’ve been avoiding pain for the past six years, not seeking it out. 

“How long had it been since you’ve actually felt anything before you met me? The way you fuck… what you let me do to you last night. Hell, what you BEGGED me to do to you... the way you fought so goddamn hard to resist me before finally giving in…” he sighs and runs his hand through your hair. “I mean, Jesus Christ! You made me burn your friend’s fucking face off before you’d let me touch you again!” 

”I didn’t ask you to do that.” You feel your shoulders tense up. 

”You didn’t have to.” He brushes your cheek with his thumb. “You’re a glutton for punishment, and I’m willing to dole it out as often as you ask me for it.” He bites his lip as he looks you over, tugging lightly on your hair before letting go. 

“You like pain?” You’re so confused. How is this situation continuing to get worse?

He stands up. “We’ll get to that.” He walks back over to his side of the bed before pulling his underwear up his legs. “There’s a dress and some heels for you on the chair over there.” He nods in your direction. “No more pants or tank tops. Only the best for my girls.”


	11. Chapter 11

You stare at the black dress as it drapes menacingly over the arm of the chair. Black lace intertwines its way into cotton and polyester before ending in lace again. It was worn maybe once or twice, by someone trying it on in a department store before putting it back on the hanger. Maybe it wasn’t their size, or exactly what they were looking for. No matter what their reasoning, they left it behind so it could end up here, in this warehouse, on this chair. At least Negan had the sense to remove any stickers or tags from the frock, making it seem special and just for you. He must have traveled far to get something like this. 

The cloth is simple enough, it should be easy to put on. You take a few steps toward it, your bare feet cold against the concrete floor. You know it’s just a dress, a mere item of clothing, but you can’t help but feel intimidated by it. You remember the first time you put your military uniform on, and how nervous you were. Putting that on meant that you had to follow orders, to think of your teammates before yourself. You had to work as a group, to be selfless, and act for the greater good. You had to follow your leader blindly into the abyss and never question their intentions. 

The door slams shut and Negan’s footsteps travel away from you: quieter, softer. His voice booms through the closed doorway as he greets his other brides with charm and laughter. Their voices ring in the air like birds chirping outside your window on a day that you’d rather not wake up. 

Maybe this is your new uniform, those women out there your new teammates, and Negan your new commanding officer. You’ve survived worse. You’ve thrived in more toxic environments; what makes this situation any different? At least he isn’t hitting you. At least he’s being honest about the other women he’s seeing. That’s more than your last husband ever gave you. 

You sigh and pick up the dress, sliding your arms through the trunk and sleeves as it slinks over your tired and worn body. It’s comfortable and giving, the lace falling across your shoulders in a boat neck design. At least he knows how to dress your body type. You shrug and pick up the pair of lace panties he set out for you, sliding them up your hips. A little uncomfortable after six years of regular cotton, but you’re sure you’ll get used to it. You have to. 

“All dressed?” Sherry enters the room slowly. 

There’s that knot in your stomach again. No matter how much you psych yourself up about being a team player, your knee-jerk reaction is to get jealous. It’s as if you’re running into your new boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend everyday, only you know that he’s still sleeping with her. 

You look at the ground as she approaches, slowly making an effort to put on your heels. 

“He’s gone now.” She practically whispers. “I brought some things for you.”

For you? She brought some things for…you? What kind of game is she playing? You’re already here, there is nothing left for her to goad you with. You stand up in your heels, reaching her height as you finally turn to face her. Good God, her perfectly symmetrical face is already making you nauseous. 

“It’s not much, but it will help.” She takes a few steps forward, handing you a plastic bag. “I saw what he did to your friend. We all did.” She nudges you with the bag. 

You purse your lips and take it from her. “Yeah well… Marshall’s a strong man, he’ll be fine.” You’re not sure if you believe your own words right now, but you have to put on a strong front.

“There’s a hairbrush, some dry shampoo, baby wipes, and lotion.” She points to the bag. “He likes us to smell like vanilla.”

Vanilla. He likes US to smell like Vanilla. He likes us… he likes us… he… you can taste the acid in the back of your throat again. Dear God, what have you done?

“I know it’s a lot to take in.” She places her hand on your shoulder. 

You glance back down at your feet as she speaks, ignoring her attempt to reach out. You aren’t sure if her being nice to you is making this worse or not. Either way, you’d be a lot happier if she would stop touching you.

“It took me a while to get used to all of this, too. I’ll understand if you don’t want to talk to me right away.” She drops her hand to her side. “But he’ll want you again tonight. These things should help you get ready.”

Her words are so sterile, so practiced, so procedural. Is this what your patients felt like when they received bad news from you? When you told them the prognosis of their disease like you were reading them names out of a phone book? You hope to God that you had a little more empathy in your voice than Sherry does right now.

You look up at her, noticing a tear start to form in the corner of her eye. A tear? Why is she crying? Did he make her come and offer you these things? Is he going to do that to you with his next wife? Did she do this of her own free will? You tilt your head and lean in closer, seeing the micro-expressions in the corner of her mouth as she forces a smile. 

“Breakfast is out there when you’re ready.” She wipes her eye and sniffs. “I’ll leave you to it.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Negan shows you off, and gets a little soft

Negan bursts through the door as the sun begins to set, a smile painted on his face. He twirls Lucille lazily as he struts into the room, making his way through soft couches and glass tables. “Ladies,” he addresses all of you.

You sit on your perch atop the most isolated couch in the room, taking in everyone’s movements, mannerisms and interactions. You notice that some of the wives don’t even look up at him when he enters. Some of them are too busy talking to each other, while others look down at the floor in obeisance. None of them are expected to kneel like the other Saviors, but their actions resemble a sort of bowing as he passes by. 

Negan looks back as Bob enters the room quietly, closing the door behind them. Bob? What the hell is Bob doing here? You sit up straight, listening to him sigh as he looks at all of your new ‘sisters’. His eyes widen as he takes inventory of each and every one of their faces until he lands on yours. 

“There, you see?” Negan steps in front of him. “She’s here, safe and sound, just like I told ya.” He smiles jokingly and pats Bob on the back, bringing him in close. He locks eyes with you from across the room, forcing you to straighten your posture even more.

“How good does she look in that dress, huh, Bobb-O?” He brings Bob with him as he makes his way over to you. “I mean, she looked great in her tank top and Levi’s, but God Damn!” He holds his hand out to you, motioning for you to stand up.

“Look at THAT!” He grasps your palm and twirls you around, looking you over from head to toe. “I mean, I gotta be honest, Bobby, I’m surprised she can even stand after what I did to her last night! You were really missing out on an opportunity there.” 

Bob’s mouth drops open in disbelief, his eyebrows raising high into his forehead. “I just… I just wanted to make sure she was okay.” He looks at the ground. 

Negan lets go of your hand and motions for you to sit back down on the couch. He hits Bob in the chest playfully and smirks. “Of course she is! What did you think? I had a bunch of women naked in a basement somewhere chained to a wall?” 

He walks over to a cooler you didn’t even know was next to you and pulls out two beers. He takes a swig from one, and hands the other to Bob. “We’re not monsters here, Robert.” He takes another sip. “I’m a man of my word, and I plan on making her very happy.” He looks at you and winks. “Isn’t that right, Baby?”

“That’s right.” You repeat, warming at his smile.

“Big Bob here was worried about you, so I thought I’d be a gentleman and show him your new digs.” He takes a sip and spreads his arms out, dangling Lucille by his ring and middle finger. 

“So is this okay? Are we all cool now?” He braces himself comically in front of Bob. “Do I have your blessing, Dad, or are you going to keep looking at me like I shit in your cereal?”

“It’s fine.” Bob glances at you quickly enough to convey just how ‘not fine’ he is with this arrangement. He lets out a long sigh as he regrets endorsing this idea from the beginning.

“You’re a lucky man.” He changes the subject and looks around at the other wives, finally taking a sip of his beer. “I’m glad she’s in good hands.”

——————————

Negan closes the door to his bedroom and walks over to the refrigerator, bending at the waist. He squints a little as he rifles through its contents and finds what he is looking for. 

“You know, Bob is a very protective guy.” He tells you from inside the ice box, pulling a bottle of wine out. He shuts the door and shimmies a cabinet drawer open, smiling at you before pulling out a bottle opener. He fastens it on top of the green glass bottle and starts to twist. 

“I told you he wouldn’t disappoint you.” You find your way to the bed, crossing your legs as lady-like as you can. 

Negan smiles as he twists the cork out of the bottle. “Yeah, you did say that.” He smirks and pours the amber liquid into two glasses on the kitchen counter. “He knows a lot about you.” He walks over to the bed and hands you the extra glass.

What did Bob say to him? What would Negan ask him about? Past boyfriends? Girlfriends? Your ex-husband? How picky you are when choosing to be with someone? How scared of abandonment you used to be? No… you bite your lip and try to stay cool. 

“I’d imagine so.” You take the glass willingly and raise it in the air before taking a sip. “We’ve known each other since we were children.”

The light moscato hits your tongue with a sweet tartness you’d forgotten you loved so much. The other wives had offered you sips of wine and beer throughout the afternoon, but you couldn’t seem to stomach it in their presence. Ironically enough, Negan seemed to be the only person who could settle your nerves right now.

“I uh…” He reaches into his back pocket, setting his glass down on the bedside table. “Found this out there for you.”

He pulls a small paperback book out of his jeans and hands it to you, his dirty and calloused fingers covering up some of the letters. The bulk of the cover is treated with a faded black ink, the letters of the title a scarlet red. A white mask sits at the bottom of the cover, the pages yellowed with the passage of time. The Phantom of the Opera by Gaston Leroux. You can’t believe it.

“He said you liked this story.”

You can’t believe your eyes as you stare at this amazing gift. You can’t believe he did this. “I did.” You touch the book to make sure it’s real. “I do!” You wrap your fingers around it and take it from him, setting your glass down next to his. “Where did you find this?!” 

“An old corner store, he told me you’d warm up a little if I gave you something to read.” He gets on his knees and slides his hands up your legs like he did this morning, only something about this is different. His hands are soft, delicate even, as they graze the surface of your skin. His eyes are calm as he watches you turn the book over and flip through its pages. 

“I know I’ve been kind of an asshole lately, and I wanted to make you smile.” He runs a hand on top of your hair. “I want you to be happy here.” 

You smile at his impossible words. “Thank you.”

“Hey, isn’t that the book about a guy with a fucked up face?” He chides, returning back to his old self.

“Well, yeah, I guess.” You set the book down and watch as his features seem to soften again. “It’s a little more than that.” 

You let your breath out as he stares at you, weighing the pros heavier than the cons now that he’s at your feet. You lift your hands up and comb your fingers through his dark hair, applying pressure to his scalp as he moans and closes his eyes. 

You didn’t know he was capable of thinking about someone else like this, let alone you. Maybe the best way to survive this is to let your guard down… to be honest instead of strong. You had been forced to be strong your entire life; maybe this was your chance for a new start. Maybe he isn’t as terrible as your gut says he is. 

“Oh baby, that feels so good.” He growls, his mouth slacking open as you move your hands around his scalp and down his neck. “All this for one little book?” 

“It’s my favorite book.” You whisper into his forehead.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harsh realities of being Negan’s wife set in.

Your heart stops as you watch him take her hand, nuzzling her ear as he pulls her into him. The room starts to spin as the sight of the two of them centers your vision like an old black and white film. No matter how hard you try, you can’t look away. You blink slowly as he leads her to the bedroom, your surroundings turning into a kaleidoscope of horrific sights and sounds.

The heat from the wine starts to slither up your chest, pulsing from your heart and into your stomach. You watch him grab her ass before slowly shutting the door, feeling a sense of finality as you stare at it blankly. The door is shut. The door is shut.

“The door is shut.” You whisper.

You don’t know what you expected. You knew this day would come. You knew that it was only a matter of time before he gave someone else a turn, a matter of time before your novelty wore off. It was a statistical certainty, a no-brainer, a line in the contract. Why then, does it hurt so bad? Why didn’t this expectation soften the blow any?

You keep your gaze on the door as you hear them giggle and growl, flashes of red tinting your vision. You could be staring at any door, really, if you think about it hard enough. Any two people in the world could be behind that slab of metal, it didn’t have to be your new husband and that… woman. 

“The door is shut.” You whisper even quieter, a tear falling down your cheek. 

“Let’s go for a walk.” Sherry takes the glass out of your hand and stands you up. “Get some air, huh?” 

You furrow your brow and stare at her, feeling more tears fall down your cheeks as she takes your hand. “The door is shut.” You tell her, pointing to Negan’s bedroom. 

“I know, sweetie, I know.” She wipes your tears and puts her arm around your shoulders, nodding to the other wives before leaving the room with you. 

“Have you eaten today?” Sherry leads you down a hallway you’ve never seen before. 

“I…” You can’t get the image of them out of your head. You can’t forget the sound of her laughing as it echoes loudly in your ears. You don’t think you’ll ever be able to put this horror show on pause as it constantly replays in your mind. How is she so calm? How is she okay with all of this? Why is she still so insistent on comforting you?

“Not much.” You manage to say, following her out a set of heavy doors.

She turns into you, smiling. “Let’s find you something, then.” She squeezes your arm and leads you to the center of a garden, stopping in front of a small patch of runners.

“Yeah, I guess.” You smile at her for the first time, suddenly not having the heart to tell her how nauseous you are.

“Do you like strawberries?” She takes her arm off your shoulders and bends at the waist, picking apart the red and green plant.

“Yeah.” You wipe your face as the sunlight warms your cheeks. “Yeah, I do.”

You watch her intently as she moves her delicate fingers through the plant, carefully choosing which fruit to pluck off. You didn’t want to like her. You didn’t want to like any of them, but Sherry’s made a conscious effort to reach out to you from the very beginning. Maybe you could be a little more receptive to her efforts.

“Here.” She stands up and offers you the juiciest strawberry you’ve ever seen in your life. “You need something sweet for a change.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?” You take the fruit from her. “I’ve been nothing but rude to you this whole time.” 

“It’s not easy being Negan’s Wife.” She smiles solemnly as she watches you devour the strawberry. “We have to stick together, although I imagine it’s different for you in a way… you really want him, don’t you?”

“You don’t?” 

“I made a choice.” She winces. “A lot like the one you made with your friend and the iron.” She turns away from you. “Only my husband… my ex-husband… was the one who paid for it.”

“Dwight is your ex-husband?” You put the pieces together as you press the leaves of the strawberry back into the soil.

“He makes it seem like you don’t have a choice.” She evades the question, bending down and picking up a strawberry for herself. “He knows what he wants, and he knows how to get it.” She looks up at you as she takes a bite.

“All of that in there is for you; it’s a game to him… everything is. He expects you to follow the rules without telling them to you in the first place.” She stands back up. “He can cheat on you, but we can’t cheat on him. As long as we make him happy and do what he says, our loved ones stay safe.”

Jesus. God. This must be why she was acting so cryptic at her checkup with Doctor Carson. She wasn’t trying to intimidate you, she was trying to warn you. With everyone in The Sanctuary looking out for Negan, she could only say so much in front of the good doctor without raising cause for alarm.   
She’d been your only ally since the beginning, and you were too blind to see it.

“Who are you keeping safe?” You ask.

“We should get back.” She whispers, eyeballing one of Negan’s men.


	14. Chapter 14

“I got you another book.” Negan traipses into your bedroom, the shuffle of his boots louder than his voice. 

You keep your back to him as you sift through the seven dresses in your closet, deciding on which one to wear. How convenient that you had one for each day of the week. You’re amazed that Negan is insistent upon keeping a strict calendar throughout the apocalypse, complete with holidays as mundane as Flag Day. “Those who forget history are doomed to repeat it,” you overheard him say. Well, guess what, Asshole? You’re repeating it!

You pull back the hangers to reveal a low-cut black sundress with small white polka dots. It hugs the torso and flares out at the waist, kind of reminding you of the nineteen forties, or Minnie Mouse, depending on how you look at it. You shrug and start to take it off the hanger before you feel his hands creep around your waist. 

“Are you not talking to me anymore?” He kisses your neck as you remove the dress completely from the hanger.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” you think to yourself. 

“Because that would not make me very happy.” He slides his fingers inside your panties.

“I’m getting dressed.” You whisper, trying your best to resist him. 

You take in a deep breath as you remember what Sherry told you the other day: as long as we keep Negan happy, our loved ones stay safe. That should be easy enough. If only you could get the image of him and Frankie out of your head, then it might be easier for you to give him what he wants. If only you could dissociate your emotions from sex. It was easy for you to do with other people in the past, why couldn’t you manage to do it with him?

His fingers slide in between your lips as his kisses on your neck become more aggressive. He drops the book on the floor and pulls you into him: Edgar Allan Poe’s The Cask Of Amontillado. Goddamn it, you really love that story. Why does he have to drive you crazy?

“Let’s put a baby in you.” He whispers into your ear, sliding your panties down.

“What?!” You spin around and face him. “What did you just say to me?”

He places his arms around your waist again before kissing your lips. “I said, ‘Let’s put a baby in you.” He stares into your eyes with that chocolate brown sparkle. “Just imagine a little killer running around here with your eyes and my smile.” He licks his lips as he pulls you in closer. “Your big brain and my charming personality.”

“Imagine that.” You force a smile. Good God, what a fucking nightmare that would be. “I’m not exactly the mothering type.” You admit. 

“Oh, I beg to differ.” He smiles wide and pushes your panties to the floor. “You’ve definitely got the physical attributes…”

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.” You change your tone and push on his chest. “Who would help me raise this child, you?! You’re never here, and The Sanctuary isn’t exactly a baby-friendly environment.”

“Well, we’ll make it one. We’ll carve out a little section next to your room just for the baby and…”

“Have you ever even had a child before?! Do you know how fucking exhausting it is just to exist and keep him alive? Do you know how isolating motherhood is when NO ONE ELSE knows... or cares what you’re going through?!” You push his chest harder and break away from him, turning back toward your dresses. 

He pauses, giving you a well deserved moment of silence. “Have you?” He asks.

“It doesn’t matter anymore.” You look at the floor and pick up the book he brought you. He has a splinter of empathy in him, sure, but you know that isn’t enough for fatherhood. Life was hard enough as a mother before the end of the world, and even harder after you lost your boy. You don't want to tell him about that story; he doesn't deserve to know it. You can’t relive those feelings of loss again… especially with him. 

“People are going a lot faster than they’re coming. We’ve got to start doing something to fix that.” He takes his time approaching you, gently grasping at your fingertips. 

“Why me?” You hold his hand and turn around. “Why not Frankie? You seemed to have no problem working with her the other day.”

He sighs and leans back, rolling his eyes as he pulls your hand up to his chest. “Oh, little Red? You’re worried about her?” He scoffs and brushes your cheek. “In case you haven’t noticed, baby, we’re in the middle of the apocalypse. Frankie, Tanya, Amber, Sherry… they’re just part of a numbers game! I’ve got to keep trying! You think I don’t know why they’re really here? You think they’re the first women in history to marry for status or protection? You think I can’t tell when a woman is faking?”

“It’s not hard to do.” You confess. 

He glares at you. 

“I just mean…” You decide to be honest. “I just… I just hate your fucking face right now! I look at you, and all I can see is her! I HATE the thought of you with her, with anyone else, I hate… this!” You take in a breath, trying not to cry in front of him.

“But you like me, anyways, don’t you?” He leans in for a kiss, completely disregarding your feelings.

You slap him across the face, wishing your palm would wipe that smug look off his fucking face. “I hate you.” 

He smiles, unphased. “You love me.”

“I love you.” You lie, playing the game Sherry warned you about. “I just need time. I’m not used to all of this.” You tell him, hoping it will help.

“I get it. You want my balls in a blender right now so you can drink it in a revenge smoothie for breakfast. That’s fine.” He touches your hair, smoothing it behind your ear. “That just shows me that you still care.” He smiles, running that tongue across his teeth. 

“I have to get dressed.” You tell him again.

“You take all the time you need, baby. I don’t want you in bed if you aren’t happy about it; kinda takes all the fun out of it anyways.” He kisses your forehead and turns on his heel, making his way toward the door.

“Negan,” you call after him. “Thank you for the book.”


	15. Chapter 15

Negan’s face is stern as he walks into the room and points at you with Lucille. He makes quick eye contact before swinging his baseball bat in the direction of his bedroom. It had been weeks since he’d asked to see you. You had told him you needed time to get over his polygamous lifestyle before you’d be okay with laying next to him again. Did you wait too long? Has he had enough? Were you foolish enough to think that he was as understanding as he seemed to be? 

You reluctantly stand up and make your way over to his bedroom, trying not to look at any of your sister-wives in the process. You straighten your dress out as you approach his doorway, swallowing hard as he twirls Lucille around his hip.

“Close the door.” He orders, slowly walking toward you. 

“Yes sir.” You do as you’re told and push the door behind you until it clicks shut. 

Negan laughs under his breath and shakes his head, pressing into his temples with his thumb and forefinger. “Jesus.” He whispers, stepping closer to you. 

“Is something funny? Did I do something wrong?” You've seen him act like this before, and what comes after it is never good. 

“This whole ‘yes sir’ bullshit has got to stop. This… ACT you’ve been putting on ever since you’ve put on that dress has got to stop.” He twirls Lucille around once and stops her with his boot.

“Act? I thought this is how you wanted me to be.” Wasn’t that the whole point? The purpose of the dress and the isolation? Didn’t he want you to be submissive?

He lets out a long sigh, leaning backward. “This isn’t gonna work out between us.” 

“What?” Your mouth falls open in disbelief. Did he really just say those words? Did the man who burned your friend’s face off to get you into bed just say that it isn’t going to work out? He has five other wives! He keeps all of them, even if he doesn’t use them very often. He never breaks up with anyone!

You feel the blood start to leave your extremities as you stare at him. How can you be the first woman in Sanctuary history that Negan breaks up with? Are you that bad in bed? Did someone else step up their game? Is Sherry a double agent? Is there someone new?

“I shouldn’t have…” He looks at the ground and takes in a deep breath. If Negan ever had a moment of vulnerability… of truth where he wasn’t completely guarded by his big mouth, then this is it. His thick eyelashes cover his gaze as he twirls Lucille in a clockwise formation. His fingers clench and relax on the handle of the wooden Louisville slugger as his chest rises and falls. 

“You’re my best fighting dog!” Negan’s moment of truth is over, his mask is back on. “And I took the fight right out of you!” His eyes are still sad, the last part of his body to fall in line with what his brain wants it to do. “I put you in a cage, hoping you’d sit and stay when your master called, but instead,” he advances on you, looking you over as he leans in close.

“Instead you curled up into a ball and hid in the corner, biting and clawing at me whenever I offered you food and shelter.” He smirks deliciously, almost wiping your memory clean of his demeanor a few seconds ago. “You fought so GODDAMN hard to keep it, and the harder you fought, the harder I tried.” He lifts your chin with his free hand. “Until you gave up.”

“Are you calling me a dog?” You raise your eyebrows at him. If he’s going to break up with you, you might as well stop trying to please him.

“You didn’t do what I wanted! You just laid down and went belly up! End of the fight! And I can’t have that!” He grabs the hair at the base of your neck. “But now that I’ve domesticated you,” his hazel brown eyes move from side to side, searching for the right words to say.

“You can’t always get what you want.” You tell him, breaking this eerie silence. 

“I can.” His voice gets deep again, pausing as he grips your hair tighter. “But not with you.” He sings, forcing a smile. “I see my mistake now. You’re a wild animal, and captivity is killing you. I may as well have put a bullet in your head.”

“Then why don’t you? Put us both out of our misery?” This conversation’s taken way too many turns in a short amount of time. If he wants to get rid of you as his wife, fine. If he wants to get rid of you altogether, well that’s just as good, too.

“Whoa, ho, ho! There you are! This...” He points between you and him. “This is what gets me all hot and bothered!” He smiles triumphantly. “I think about you like this all the time, even when I’m with the other girls.”

“Then what are you gonna do about it?” You raise a single eyebrow, trying your best to fight fire with fire.

Negan opens his mouth, parting his lips only slightly as he brushes them against yours. “I’m gonna need you to take off that dress and put it back on the chair.”

“Are you divorcing me?” You slide your hands up his chest, raking your nails down the thin cloth of his white t-shirt.

“Technically.” He nods, closing his eyes and groaning as your hands travel down his waist to the hem of his pants. “Think of it more as a reassignment.” He drops Lucille as you start to unfasten his belt, backing you up against the wall. “No more bullshit answers or fake smiles, you understand me?”

You nod as he presses himself against you, sliding the dress off your shoulders. “Yes.”

“Good.” He pushes the fabric of the dress down your chest, waist and hips. “When we’re done here you go right to Dr. Carson, understood?”

“Understood.”


	16. Chapter 16

Working with Doctor Carson makes you feel whole again, complete, purposeful. The smell of alcohol pads brings back memories of renal patients who never wanted to follow their diets, diabetics who refused their insulin, and confused little old ladies. Sleepless nights working overtime as staff stayed home with the sickness were the most vivid memories for you at the moment. Exhaustion was a strong unifier between coworkers, bringing you and Bob closer in the wee small hours of the morning. You don’t know how close ‘normal hours’ will bring you and Doctor Carson now that you’re back to work, but you’re interested in finding out.

“It’s good to have you back.” Doctor Carson stares at you like a fish out of water. His pupils dilate against olive green irises as he takes you in.

“Thanks, Doc.” You pause as you feel him glare at you, your face and neck warming up. “What?” You put your hands on your hips. 

“It’s just that…” He swallows hard and smiles. “No one ever comes back.” He smiles again and forces himself to turn around, sorting through the drawer of bandages.

“No one?” You ask.

No one ever comes back? No one?! Is Negan’s harem of wives like the mafia, where you stay in and do as you’re told, or you walk with the dead? Were you really the only woman lucky enough to get out? How had you managed to dodge this stereotypical fate? 

You shake your head and take in a deep breath, deciding to put it from your mind. You return his rare smile, even though you know he isn’t watching. The subtle acknowledgement from your colleague is the boost of confidence you need to start your day off right. For the first time in weeks you don’t feel nauseous. You don’t feel the need to go to that safe place in your mind anymore; that place where you spent most of your time in that little black dress. 

“You never came in for a check-up while you were…” He has enough sense not to finish his sentence. As loyal he is to Negan, his respect for you reigns supreme. He opens another drawer and examines the inventory of needles and syringes, struggling to make eye contact with you. 

“Would I be too bold to suggest a pregnancy test?” He keeps his head down, fingering the large bore needles.

Pregnancy test. Pregnancy test. Pregnancy test!You say the words in your mind so many times that the syllables lose their meaning and sound like a foreign language. Why didn’t you think about that? You’re a nurse! Did you think you were immune to getting pregnant just because it was the end of the world? Or because you hadn’t been with anyone until Negan? Did you think that just because you didn’t want it to happen, that it couldn’t? God, how could you have been so careless?

“That is, unless the two of you didn’t…” Doctor Carson faces you with a pink and white box in his hand. 

“No,” You sigh. “We did, but…” You think about the last time you had your cycle, and how you weren’t there long enough to sync up with Negan’s other wives. “I can’t take it until next week.” 

Doctor Carson nods and puts the box back in the cabinet.

“So, uh, how’s Marshall holding up?” You ask, trying to change the subject away from your reproductive organs. “Is his face… is he… okay?” 

Doctor Carson’s eyes widen, his pale blonde eyebrows disappearing into his forehead. He holds onto his stethoscope tightly as your words travel through the air and into his ears. “He didn’t tell you?”

What? Why does everyone in this office feel the need to ask if Negan tells you things? He doesn’t! Obviously! Jesus! Just tell me! What is it? Is he okay? “Tell me what?” You finally verbalize. 

He steps toward you, placing his hand on top of yours as it rests on the exam table. “Your friend Marshall had a heart attack after Negan burned him with the iron.” He looks you in the eye. “The stress from his leg and the burn, and our lack of IV fluids, heparin, and antibiotics… he was fine after I washed his face and placed a bandage on him, but the next morning…” he lets out a long sigh and looks down at his brown leather shoes. “I did everything I could for him. The other men usually don’t have any other ailments when I…”

You nod silently. You’re not sure why, but in the back of your head you already knew that he wasn’t going to last long. You knew that agreeing to be Negan’s wife would only help a little, if at all. Even if Negan wanted to keep him safe, there is only so much Doctor Carson could do for him.

You’ve seen patients in worse condition recover and walk out of the hospital, but that was with a full staff and endless medical supplies. It’s only a matter of time before everything starts to expire, the bandages and saline run out, and herbal medicine comes back into practice. Maybe you should start consulting old texts…

“I’m so sorry.” He squeezes your hand as you stare off into space, bringing you back to the present. 

“I know you did what you could, of course I know that.” You force a smile. 

“After he passed, his girlfriend and her sister…”

Oh God, there’s more. Please don’t say it. Please don’t tell me they’re gone too. You were supposed to protect them, all of them. And now look at where you are. Look at what you’ve done! You’ve led them all to the slaughter! Because of what? A deep voice and a charming smile?

“They couldn’t stay here without him. At least I think that was their reasoning behind…”

You put up your hand to silence him. You don’t want to hear anymore. You can’t. You shake your head and press your lips together into a thin line. Three of your friends are gone. Gone! The three friends who watched mothers and fathers, sons and daughters get eaten alive by the walking dead. The three friends that listened to your ideas and hid in treetops to avoid herds of animated corpses from reaching you. The three friends who trusted you to bring them into the Sanctuary to get Marshall the help you thought he so desperately needed. 

If only you had just kept walking. If only you had let Marshall die in the woods that day; then there would only be one person’s blood on your conscience. If only you were still living in the branches of oaks and elms as you traveled even further south. If only…

“It’s normal for people to experience the stages of grief out of order.” He tells you, letting go of your hand. “Nowadays it’s only a matter of time before we lose the ones we love. Acceptance often comes before Denial.” He takes in a deep breath. “I didn’t want to tell you this way, especially on your first day back…”

“It’s fine.” You sniff as you feel the tears start to well up in your eyes. “I’m glad you did.”

You look up at the hazy light in the ceiling, tilting your chin toward the sky. You wait for your tears to dry in their sockets and walk over to the controlled substances cabinet, trying to distract yourself. “Should we start our inventory for the day?”


	17. Chapter 17

You open the door to his heavy presence as his knocks wake you from your slumber. Lucille rests on his shoulder, the barbed wire cleaner and tighter than when you saw it last. His stubble is a beautiful onyx and silver in the new lighting of your old ‘apartment’, a devious smile curls his lips.

“I missed ya.” He grins.

You stare at his handsome face, wiping the sleep from your eyes. The news of your friends’ demise still weighs heavily on your heart as his scent threatens to throw you off. You should have known he would come to visit you tonight, to reap what he’s sewn. You didn’t really want to see him, but now that he’s here, you don’t really want to turn him away. That’s your whole problem.

“Hi.” You mutter, stepping back so he can enter.

“Hi? That’s all I get is a ‘hi’ after your first day with the good doctor?” He struts into your living space. “Was it that bad? Were you that bored staring at his skeletor-like face all day that you had to go right to sleep without eating anything?”

“How did you know that I didn’t...” You lean against your kitchenette counter.

“I know everything that goes on inside these walls.” He twirls Lucille around in the air. “Everything.” He reiterates.

“Then you’ll know that Doctor Carson told me about Marshall.” You glare at him, crossing your arms over your chest. “And Katie, and Sally.”

His face drops, his best impression of compassion crossing his features. “Oh, shit.” He whispers, walking toward you. “Shit, babe, I’m sorry. I almost forgot about little Jose and the Bobbsey Twins.” He rubs his temples and smiles, dragging his fingers across his face.

“Is that why you’re all locked up in your room like a gothic teenager? For that boy who was too fucking stupid to give you the time of day? Who didn’t deserve you even though you stuck out your neck to save him? That guy?!” He points Lucille toward the door as if he were standing outside listening to your conversation.

He’s using distancing language: ‘that boy’, ‘that guy’. Somewhere in there, maybe he actually does feel responsible for Marshall’s death; even if he doesn’t know it just yet.

“When were you going to tell me?” You push yourself off the counter and step to him. “Were you even planning on it, or were you just going to let time pass by until I forgot about them?”

“Listen, Baby, that kid was gonna die with or without my help.” He lifts Lucille and taps your chest. “You know that.” He brings Lucille to his chest. “And I know that.”

He studies your body language, realizing that you aren’t in the mood he had anticipated at the beginning of his visit. “And the other two girls, who knew that they couldn’t hang it here?”

“They deserved better. I should have been there for them.”

“Jesus Christ himself couldn’t have talked them out of what they planned on doing, so don’t go thinking that little old you held any higher clout than that. Shit happens! People die! People get depressed and kill themselves, hell, can you blame them with these walkers? I mean, shit!”

You roll your eyes and look at the ground. “I just didn’t expect them all to be gone.” You whisper, noticing again how small your feet are compared to his. “All of them so fast.”

“Listen, I was gonna tell you about your friends, but I’ve been a little busy with another community, so excuse the fuck out of me if it slipped my mind.” He raises both hands defensively in the air.

“There’s another community?” Your ears perk up.

“Careful!” He bellows, stopping you in your tracks. He points a finger at you. “I gave you everything, and you’re curious about some other community? They’re run by some delusional guy with dreadlocks who thinks he’s an actual king.”

“Like someone who asks his community to kneel whenever he enters a room? Delusional like that?” You prod.

He laughs, leaning backward. “You just love busting my balls, don’t you?”

“Well,” you start, tilting your head playfully, “Yeah.”

He rubs his hand over his beard and licks his lips, slowly walking toward you. “You want me to help you forget about the bad news?” He drops Lucille behind him. “Make that pretty little pussy drown my hips so you can scream my name for everyone to hear?” He stops as the kitchen counter hits your lower back.

“I…” You feel him slide his fingertips under your t-shirt. “I do, but I...” His lips graze your neck, his tongue parting them before licking the sweat off your clavicle. “Oh my God, Negan.” His warm tongue makes your hair stand on end.

How does he always manage to do this? No matter what negative emotion you’re feeling towards him, he always makes it disappear as if nothing ever happened. One word out of his mouth, one brush of his lips, and you’re putty in his hands.

You sit up on the countertop, looking into his eyes as his mouth meets yours. You wrap your arms around his neck, bringing him in closer as you inhale his flavor. God, he tastes good. Why does he always have to taste so good?

You feel him smile against your lips as he pulls your shirt off over your head. He unhooks the clasps between your shoulder blades, watching your bra fall between your legs as your nipples harden against the cool air. He smirks triumphantly and continues kissing you like a horny teenager.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

Negan pulls away from you, anger and disappointment painting his face a bright red.

“Negan, s..sir…” a shaky male voice barely makes its way through your door.

Negan takes in a deep breath, pressing his lips together as he surveys the landscape of your torso with his palms. “What is it, Fat Joseph?” His voice is deep and serious.

“I’m sorry to bother you, sir.” His voice gets a little louder.

“Can it wait? I’m a little busy.” He squeezes your breast and rubs his cock through his overstretched jeans.

“I’m afraid not, sir. It’s the outpost. They called for backup and now they aren’t responding at all.”

A deafening silence rings in your ears as Negan’s eyes shift from side to side, the cogs in his brain working harder than you’ve ever seen before. He takes in a breath, quick and shallow as he ponders the possibilities of this news. His hands fall to your hips as his eyes slow down to their normal pace.

Negan finally looks at you and sighs, handing you back your bra and shirt.

“Goddamnit.” He whispers, shaking his head. He kisses your forehead before stepping away from you, picking up Lucille and approaching the door. He opens it only slightly, just enough to have a quiet conversation with Fat Joey about this supposed ‘outpost’.

You slide your arms through your bra and fasten it behind your back, quickly hopping off the counter to get in better earshot of what they’re saying. You hear words like Hilltop, Kingdom, and Rick, but can’t quite figure anything else out. You put your shirt back on over your head, slowly stepping toward the door.

“Get everybody together, we’re going to go get the son of a bitch who did this.” Negan orders, forcing Fat Joey to run away down the hall. He slams the door shut and turns toward you.

“Everything alright?” You dare to ask, knowing full well the answer is going to be ‘no’.

Negan grunts and twirls Lucille in the air, huffing and puffing as he paces the small space of your room. You watch his eyes glass over as he works himself up before pausing in front of you.

“I promoted Bob to help run my outpost last week.” He starts, taking a moment before he continues. “An outpost that a group of survivors apparently just took out, and I have to go deal with that now.” He looks at the door, unable to look you in the eye.

“Bob’s… there? Bob’s…” What is he saying, exactly?

“He gave me this book to give you before he left.” He hands you _The Fall Of the House Of Usher_ by Edgar Allan Poe. “I’ll see you in a few days.”


	18. Chapter 18

You slump down on your bed and stare at the book in your hands. The edges are worn and curved, some cracks breaking the pages apart. It’s older than the other two books Negan gave you, lighter.  
You stare at the haunting artwork of an old house in the middle of a desolate landscape, a light on in an upstairs bedroom. Rain comes down in heavy sheets around the house as a large crack spreads from the foundation all the way up the roof. 

What if Bob is there? What is Bob is hurt? What if Bob is dead? No, you can’t think like that right now. Bob’s a survivor, the strongest one in your group. Just because you’ve lost Marshall, Katie and Sally, doesn’t mean that you’ll lose him, too.

You run your fingers over the cover and sift through the pages. The crispy brown pieces of paper stop at a dog-eared page with a few underlined sentences. Hmm… that’s interesting. You’ve only just finished The Phantom of The Opera, and haven’t had a chance to skim through The Cask Of Amontillado… oh no. 

Bob didn’t suggest these books to Negan because you liked them. He wasn’t trying to help him win you over, or make your stay here anymore pleasant. Bob gave them to Negan because he knew you’d catch his notes. He’d hoped you’d remember your days in the ninth grade with Miss Jackson in English Literature when you first read these stories. He was hoping you’d find his breadcrumbs. 

You remember that he gave you The Cask Of Amontillado first, shortly after becoming a wife. You open your bedside drawer and find the book, skimming through for any folded over pages. Aha! You’ve found it, your first passage: “‘Drink’, I said, presenting him with the wine… he again took my arm. He stepped unsteadily forward, while I followed immediately at his heels.” Oh God, you’d been Fortunato this whole time; too drunk on Negan’s charm to realize what’s been going on. You continue reading. “I had scarcely laid the first tier of the masonry when I discovered the intoxication in a great measure had worn off…” 

You stare at the words before you, realizing just how many tiers Negan had plastered up around you until your intoxication wore off, until you gave up. Only he didn’t keep piling bricks and mortar onto you, no, he actually took some of them off. He pulled you out of your prison and placed you here, where you belong. Maybe it was another game, just another tier of bricks in an even bigger wall. Maybe he actually felt some regret for what he did to you. 

You look at the passage in the House of Usher, following slowly with a shaky finger. “We have put her living in the tomb! Said I not that my senses were acute? I now tell you that I heard her first feeble movements in the hollow coffin.” Was Bob talking about Katie and Sally? You keep reading. “There was blood upon her white robes, and the evidence of some bitter struggle upon every portion of her emaciated frame… a victim to the terrors he had anticipated.”

Did Negan tell Bob what he did to you? Did he do that to all of his wives? Was that the last straw for Bob? What was he trying to tell you, exactly? You look at the last underlined section of prose. “From that chamber, and from that mansion, I FLED aghast… the vast house and its shadows alone behind me.” The word ‘fled’ is circled furiously, underlined three times. 

Had Bob left long before Marshall or Katie passed away? Had he managed to escape? Or did Bob actually get promoted like Negan had said? The two of them seemed to get along, as well as anyone could get along with Negan, that is. 

You stand up and walk over to your door, hearing people run down the hallway in the same direction Fat Joey had scurried earlier. Negan’s voice thunders off in the distance, the static of walkie talkies coming in and out between statements. Simon and Dwight keep checking in as they gas up the vehicles for what seems to be a long ride ahead. It sounds like they are going to be gone for a couple of days. 

You step back from the door and stare at the books splayed open on your bed. Bob must have really gone out of his way to find these stories, each of them specifically out of their collections. He wouldn’t risk passing them to you through Negan if he didn’t think it was worth the risk. Maybe he was paying for that risk right now. Maybe he wanted to be far away from Negan’s wrath when you put the pieces together…

“From that chamber, and from that mansion, I FLED!” You whisper under your breath, picking up the books. This house is crumbling just like The House Of Usher, and it’s only a matter of time before it takes you with it. Bob is trying to tell you to leave, and he’s telling you to do it now.


	19. Chapter 19

How are you supposed to leave? It’s going to take days for you to finagle getting all of your stuff back: your best knife, your water-resistant matches, your flashlight, your extra socks and boots. You don’t even know where they put them after Negan took them from you. You do know, however, that trying to get your gun back is a fool’s errand. 

You hear the voices outside your door die down, realizing that there will be less prying eyes on you in the next twenty-four hours. You remember another literary favorite Bob had forgotten to include in his furtive hints to you. Maybe he had a hand in this battle at the outpost, after all. Maybe he wanted the Eye Of Sauron on him while you snuck through the mountains of Mordor. Maybe he volunteered to go work there to give you a chance to flee this crumbling house.

Maybe. Or maybe Negan felt bad about Marshall, Sally, and Katie passing away at the same time, and Bob’s promotion was merely coincidental. Maybe that’s the real reason he gave you your job back. Maybe he knew that if he kept you in that black dress when you heard the news, you’d do something drastic. With nothing left to lose, there would be no one left to punish except for you. If you were too distracted by your work with Doctor Carson and your old apartment, you’d be much less likely to lash out. Negan likes to play dumb, but he’s always thinking, always moving the pieces on his chess board.

Negan doesn’t love you. Negan doesn’t even like you. Negan’s intrigued by you, and your usefulness for The Sanctuary and his primal urges. That’s it. Negan will be fine without you, and you will be able to thrive without him. If you leave now, there isn’t anyone else he can burn, anyone else he can torture for your actions. Bob might not be dead at the outpost, but he may as well be. He’s opened up a window for you to escape, and you’d be dishonoring your friend if you didn’t take it.

You could sit here and overthink everything that could go wrong if you leave. You could worry about how you would be starting all over again, alone and with few supplies. You could focus on the fact that Negan would search for you, drag you back to The Sanctuary, and kill you in front of the other wives. Or you could focus on serving a master who burns people’s faces off if they make him mad. The choice is yours. 

You open the door of your apartment and chase after the sound of wavering footsteps and walkie talkie static. You follow the crowd as they begin to thin out, heading for the motor pool of trucks just outside the next hallway. You want to make sure people see you heading towards the caravan before they leave. You want to make sure Negan thinks that you can’t wait for his return. You want to make sure that no one will suspect you of leaving in the middle of the night. 

You push the heavy door open and feel the hot summer air on your face. The moon is almost full as it hangs in the sky, shining an eerie light on The Sanctuary and its people. You stand on your tiptoes and search the crowd for Negan. You see Simon and Arat yelling at people as they wave them into the beds of trucks, and assume that Negan is already in his vehicle. You drop down to the balls of your feet and start weaving in and out of trucks, searching for your man in black leather. 

“You looking for me, little girl?” His voice makes you stop, turning around to find him in the passenger seat of a big black truck. 

“I just,” You force yourself to look sad. “I wanted to say goodbye, and thank you.”

“Goodbye? Oh, I’m coming back, don’t you fucking worry! It’s those guys that should be worried about coming back, if you know what I mean!” 

You walk up to the truck, hopefully looking at his face for the last time. You’re going to miss those eyes and that smile, his scent and those hands, his brutal honesty and that tongue. God, that tongue… You shake your head of those memories and place your hand on his cheek, slowly rubbing his whiskers with your thumb. 

“I know.” You smile, leaning in for one last kiss. You close your eyes and taste his intoxicating flavor one last time before reluctantly pulling away. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Fuck yeah, you will.” He stares at you with those dark hazel eyes, the grayish brown almost completely overcome by black. “Keep this place in line for me, will ya?” He winks and nudges your chin with the back of his knuckle. 

“I will.” You lie, stepping back as Dwight climbs into the driver's seat, closing the door behind him. 

“We’re ready to go, Negan.” Dwight grumbles. 

“Well alright, Dwighty Boy! Let’s go show these assholes who’s boss!” He slaps Dwight’s knee and winks at you again before the truck starts, a roar of thunderous vehicles slowly starting up behind them. 

You let your hands fall to your knees as you watch them take off, one vehicle after the other. Their worn down tires billow up clouds of dust around you as they leave you alone in their tracks. The window is open.


	20. Final Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the end.

“You’re leaving.” Sherry states, standing in the doorway. 

You stop shoving Tylenol and betadine into your pack and stare at her. A woman in black, as thin as a rail, grasping onto the frame of the only home you knew in the past six years. She isn’t asking you if you’re leaving, she’s telling you. Her hair falls perfectly onto her shoulders as she approaches you, her footsteps as silent as you wish yours could be. 

“There isn’t anything left for me here.” You tell her, making sure to pack your scissors and a scalpel. 

“Nothing? I thought you actually cared for him, that you wanted him? You’re the only one who genuinely wanted to be with him.” She can’t even say his name. She walks over to the exam table like the first time you met her and sits down.

“I do.” You close your eyes, pressing them shut as the pain of your choice pierces deeper. “I just… you know how he is.”

“I know!” She yells in a coarse whisper. “I know how he is, and that’s why I’m staying. When he was with you, he wasn’t so wild, so angry with the rest of us. When he was with you, things were better for everyone.”

Oh great, this is exactly what you want to hear right now. The one person who is supposed to be on your side is begging you to stay in this toxic relationship. 

“He gave you your stuff back, your old job back! He NEVER does that. Do you know how lucky you are?!” She crosses her arms over her chest, crinkling the tissue paper on the table. 

“It’s not enough, Sherry. He…” you open your eyes. “Everyone I know is gone. The whole reason I brought them here was to save Marshall, and he was the first to go! Now it’s just… me?! And I’m not even who I thought I was anymore after I let him… Living in fear of whose face he’s going to burn off if they don’t ‘bend the knee’?”

“You think that you brought them here? You think that any decision you made after he laid eyes on you was your own? This is his world, and we’re just living in it.” She uncrosses her arms and looks you over. 

“Yeah well, maybe he’s underestimated me.” You grab a pen light and put it in your bag, fastening it quickly before strapping it onto your back. 

“Maybe you’ve underestimated him. Maybe all of this was a trick to make you think he left so he could test you… see if you’ll stay in your cage when the door is unlatched.”

Oh shit, what if she’s right? What if Negan was testing you? Would he waste all those resources and manpower just to see if you would escape? Would he have Fat Joey come in and ruin your makeup sex just for that? Was this his way of breaking you, of making you second guess yourself? Was Sherry in on it, too?

“Well, I, umm, I didn’t think about that.” You tell her frankly, leaning against the countertop. 

Now you don’t know what to do. This could go one of four ways. You try to play out the absolute worst case scenario for each situation. If you stay, and Sherry is spying for Negan, you’ll be in trouble… BIG trouble. If she isn’t working for Negan, and you stay, then you’ll be stuck in this miserable existence forever. If you leave and Sherry is right, then he’ll catch you. And if he catches you, well, you don’t even want to begin to think about what he’ll do to you then. 

You grab a handful of morphine and fentanyl, telling yourself that you’ll ingest them before Negan gets his hands on you. If you have to go, you’ll at least go out on your own terms instead of his or Lucille’s. 

“Doctor Carson needs those.” Sherry whispers. You had hardly noticed that she stood up from the exam table, standing only inches away from you now.

“I need them more. Bob died for these drugs, the least I can do is take them with me.” You shove them in the front pocket. 

“Bob is dead?” Sherry looks genuinely surprised. 

“He was at the outpost, or at least that’s what Negan told me before he left.”

Sherry lowers her head, her diamond earrings glistening in the faint moonlight from the window above her. She bites her lower lip and looks up at you, her eyes wet with tears. “There’s really no one here for you, then?”

“No.” You adjust the straps on your pack. “Just me.”

She takes in a deep breath, glancing out into the hallway to make sure no one is close by. She leans into you, almost as if to hug you, and whispers into your ear. “There’s a single guard at the gate after nine o’clock. He makes a slow circle around The Sanctuary starting on the east side. Most of the smarter ones will be in the caravan with Negan by now. If you are who you say you are, if you can take care of yourself… you can go in an hour, but only then.”

Her words are immaculate as they dance into your ears. Finally! A way out! Has she been watching them all of these years? How long has she been here? Has she been trying to escape, too? How long has she been planning this? 

“And you’ll meet me there?” You whisper back.

“What?”

“You, Tanya, Frankie, and Amber? You’ll meet me at the gate when I give you a signal? It can be a bird call or something else, it doesn’t have to be…”

“Stop.” She places her hand on your chest, her pressure soft but firm. “We can’t all go, it will draw too much attention.”

“Then let it. Like you said, most of the people who would stop us are with Negan already, headed for the outpost. Think of what we could do together. I could protect you, all of you!” You stare into her eyes. 

“We’re not like you. We wouldn’t survive. Ex-military and a nurse, compared to what? Two gardeners, a babysitter, and a massage therapist?! We’d be dead in minutes!” She scolds.

“This isn’t a job interview, Sherry, this is your freedom! This is your life! And what kind of life is it if you stay in those heels and that dress, doing whatever he wants? You’ve stayed alive this long before you came to The Sanctuary; you can do it again!”

“We still have people to protect. If we leave… our loved ones get hurt.” She moves her hand to your shoulder, smiling at the fact that you aren’t brushing it off. 

“Sometimes…” she purses her lips. “Sometimes I wish that Dwight was already dead so that I could be like you, to be fearless and invincible.” A tear falls down her cheek. 

“I’m not fearless. I’m afraid all of the time.” You confess, clasping your hand over her fingers. “I’ve never stopped being afraid since I got here.”

“Good, then let that fuel you.” She gives your hand a quick squeeze before stepping aside and letting you pass. 

You put your hand on top of her hair and kiss her forehead. “I’ll see you on the other side of the wall.”

She nods. “I’ll see you on the other side of the wall.”


	21. Be Still: An Epilogue

You adjust yourself on the tree branch, readying your handgun as faint footsteps sound loudly amidst the abandoned forest. You do your best to keep quiet, wrapping one arm around the trunk as you keep your eyes peeled for the intruder. Slow and steady, calm and patient, they definitely don’t belong to a walker. 

High-pitched whistling hits your ears before you see him, sending your heart into a rapid dance inside your chest that can only be caused by one person. The early autumn sun streams in through the green and yellow trees, casting him in a warm and welcoming light, just like that first day on the road. Lucille swings next to him in a perfect continuous circle as the dead leaves crunch under his boots. 

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” He sings in a deep baritone.

You grab onto the tree trunk with one hand, steadying your site on him with the other. You take in a deep breath and hold it, hoping that he won’t hear you breathing. How did he find you? How long has he been looking for you? Why was he so far away from The Sanctuary? Why did he shave his beard?

“I know you’re up there, princess.” He stops in front of your tree and looks up, his face more menacing now that it’s barren. He looks younger, thinner, frailer. 

“Are you going to come down here and talk to me like a man, or are you gonna keep hugging that tree like some goddamn hippie?” He laughs at his own joke, swinging Lucille up onto his shoulder.

“How did you find me?” You ask, both excited and afraid to hear his answer. 

“You leave your own unique trail of breadcrumbs, baby.” He winces as he looks up at you, shielding his eyes from the sun. 

“Put the bat down.” You order, cocking your gun.

“God, I missed the sound of your voice!” He leans to the side, sizing you up. “And look at you! You found a gun!” He smiles, slowly rolling his tongue across his teeth. 

“No thanks to you.” You point the gun at his head. You contemplate firing a warning shot at his feet or next to his side, but you don’t want to attract any walkers, or worse yet, Negan’s men. “I said put the bat down.”

You remember what you saw him do with that bat. After you had escaped, you thought you were traveling in the opposite direction of him, but ended up crossing paths just after you’d tied yourself to another tree. He didn’t see you, but you sure as hell saw him. You unwillingly bore witness to the horrors of his psychosis, the rage inside of him that couldn’t be rivaled. Those poor men, that poor man and his son; the things he said to him, the things he made him do…

“Lucille? She missed you.” He licks his lips and stares up at you like a kid in a candy store. 

“Toss it.” You motion with your gun, grabbing onto the trunk even tighter. 

“Alright.” He winks at you. “Alright, Annie Oakley, you win, I’ll set her down.” He tosses Lucille a few feet away from him, looking up at you for approval.

“And your knife.” You aren’t going to get close to him again with that blade on his hip.

“Holy shit, you ARE paranoid, aren’t you? What do you think I’m going to do, slit your throat?” He smiles that freakishly charming smile of his.

“You’ve cut me before.” You tell him, watching carefully as he takes his knife out of its holster. 

He throws his blade in the same direction as Lucille, the metal clanging against the wood and barbed wire as it falls on top. “There, are you happy? Can we talk, now? I feel like after the shit you pulled, you at least owe me that!”

You owe him that? Is he kidding? He hasn’t changed at all. You don’t owe him anything. “I think I’ve given you quite enough.”

Negan rubs his chin and sighs, glancing at his feet before looking back up at you. “Please… I’m on my goddamn knees down here.”

“It doesn’t look like that from up here.” You tell him.

Negan leans back, chuckling under his breath as his dark eyes sparkle in the sunlight. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me! You’re loving every second of this, aren’t you?” 

“I’ve got all the time in the world.” You retort.

“Jesus Christ.” He whispers under his breath, getting onto his knees.

You smile as you stare down at him, he who would be king of The Saviors: Negan The Red. He sits below you on his knees begging an audience with your attention, your time, and your patience. Those things he so swiftly took away from you, he wants back in his possession. 

You let go of the tree trunk and hop onto the ground, landing directly in front of him. His pupils dilate as he takes you in, his mouth slacking open in a newfound silence. His chest slowly heaves up and down as you kneel before him, leveling the playing field for just a moment. 

You put your gun in the back of your pants and look at him; really look at him. You notice the lines in his face, the grey in his hair, the prickly whiskers starting to grow through his cheeks. You notice his hooded lids as they struggle to stay open over tired and weary eyes. He’s been going through something, something worse than what he’s used to. Whether he’s willing to tell you about it or not, you imagine it has something to do with that man and his son. 

You gently raise your hand, like a child to a tiger in a zoo, and touch his face. You watch as those heavy lids fall softly, his head leaning into the warmth of your palm. For a moment, you’re almost able to forget all of the terrible things he’s done. For a moment, you’re almost able to see him for what he has the potential to be. 

“You stole everything from me.” You remind yourself. “Everyone.”

“I know.” He admits, leaving his dramatics behind. “I know.”

You let go of his face and push into his chest. “Why are you here? What do you want? What else can you take?!” 

You push his chest again, making him lean back as he takes your blows. One by one, you lay into his leather jacket as your knuckles redden with impact. You grasp at his clothes, pushing and pulling him into you as your nails break against the metal zippers of his coat. You can’t help the tears as they fall down your cheeks and onto the crispy brown leaves below.

“Shhh…” He whispers, wrapping himself around you. He pulls you in, squeezing his arms over your shoulder blades as you continue to punch him in the chest. “Shhh…” He kisses you hair, letting you get it out of your system. 

You cry into his chest, finally letting out all of the grief you’d been too afraid to show until now. Grief you’d almost forgotten about until you saw his face again. The pain you’d choked down when Marshall and Katie died, the gravity of that little black dress he made you wear, and the uncertainty of Bob’s fate all come crashing down as he holds you close. 

“I hate you.” You confess, looking up at him with teary eyes.

“I love you.” He counters, running his hands through your hair. He stifles your reaction with a kiss so tender, it’s almost unrecognizable. Soft lips blanket you in warmth and comfort as his strong hands pull you in close. 

You’re so taken aback, you don’t even think to argue with him. You relish the sensation of his strong fingertips massaging your scalp as you taste him for the first time in weeks, or was it months? You let him distract you with his hands and mouth like he always did, turning you into a puddle of physical and emotional vulnerability. 

“I miss you.” You retract from his kiss, trying your best to stay strong. “All I wanted was this.” You trace your fingers over his lips, trying to capture just how smooth they are. “All I wanted was us.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t give that to you.” He admits, kissing your fingers tenderly. “I’m sorry I’m such an asshole.” 

For the first time since you’ve met him, his eyes aren’t glistening with charm. They aren’t sparkling with his fake intimidating smile. His eyes are still with honesty as he anxiously awaits your reply. 

“I’m sorry, too.” You smile sadly, moving your hand across his face and onto his shoulder. “I’m sorry any of it ever happened.”

“I’m not.” He kisses your lips again before standing up, quickly collecting his knife and bat. He clears his throat and looks down at you, pointing Lucille toward the road. 

“Dwight and Simon are going through this area again here in a few days. You’ll be gone before then, won’t you?” He raises his eyebrows to make sure you understand that he’s letting you go; he’s letting you live. 

You nod in silence, wondering now what his intention toward you was when he first entered the forest. Was he going to kill you, and changed his mind once he saw you? Was he planning on taking you back to the Sanctuary, and suddenly thought differently of the idea? No matter what his original plan was, he’s decided to go against it. He’s decided to go against himself, and let you escape. Maybe he did love you, after all.


End file.
